Pan's Continuing Mission
by AurigaCapella
Summary: UPDATE: CH15 is up! Editing finished. The face Pan had been fighting to keep neutral crumpled, but she refused to let her body collapse. He took the initiative and folded her rigid form in his arms... TP STNG crossover
1. The Unhealthy Obsession

Heh. Yeah, the fanfiction stat thing messed up the number of words in my fic. So I'm reposting chapters 1-12. I might revamp some of the scenes I didn't quite like. Feel free to read and review! I thrive on the reviews. Oh, yes.

In fact, yes. I am going through and editing the entire thing. Might as well.

Chapter 1

She stood on a dank, dark platform, utterly alone and yet quietly confident. Black night enveloped her body, so thick it was almost tangible, choking her ever so slowly with its silence and its vile indifference. A thin layer of sweat and grime coated her prominent brow and clumps of stringy, greasy black hair stuck to her cheeks, unheeded for the moment. Her pale forehead was drawn down heavily in an outward façade of intense concentration, masking the inner turmoil that flowed through her stomach like a raging tornado. All around her lay carnage of a battle that was fought in the name of a war begun long ago, fought long after complete victory had been achieved. She scoffed at their perseverance, that stubborn streak that stupid men hold after their world has been racked and torn. She would never be able to understand their motives for running boldly and insanely to their death. Then again, they had nothing behind them to live for.

Her heavy burgundy cloak was draped about her square shoulders, attached at her lean neck with a tarnished brass circle. The cloak never moved. No trace of a wind blew through the surrounding blackness to encourage such a thing. Instead it simply hung, as dead as the majority of the poor idiots strewn just out of eyesight. The cheap mail it obscured was composed of small steel discs, which now bore not only ever-clinging rust but the red and sticky blood of the saps she had battled personally.

She had not bothered with leg armor this time, wearing tight brown slacks instead. Her body bore no scratch to prove she had even attempted to engage in battle. Her fighting skills were honed as sharp as the sword that hung loosely at her side (the only object about her person that even resembled fine equipment) and the silly males she had fought, although determined, had not been real soldiers. They had not even employed a plan of attack; they had simply swarmed en masse into her domain in anger and spite. They had not expected to win.

A twinge of guilt pervaded her senses, written off shortly afterwards with a snort. She pivoted on the heels of her black leather boots, now folded down to her ankles and resembling cuffed shoes. During battles, she always unfolded them completely, so that she could feel the rim of the soft material just beneath her knee. Absent of any sort of decoration, she wore them only because they allowed a freedom of movement that most other such boots entirely lacked.

Receding footfalls could be heard, echoing through the vast area, by those fallen men who had yet to breathe their last inevitable breath.

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Pan gasped loudly as she left the holodeck, clutching her chest and leaning heavily against an opposing wall. She stared at the door to the room she had just abandoned, a look of horror painted on her pale face. I…killed them. I killed those innocent men. But I feel so…satisfied. She swallowed. This program is dangerous. I must discontinue… she thought silently, her breath coming in rasping gasps. She knew she would be back, but she didn't have to like it.

&&&&&&&&&&&FLASHBACK-TYPE THING (don't you just love these?)&&&&&&&&&&&&

Pan had begun using the holodeck in order to increase her fighting prowess and learn to handle different weapons. They interested her. At first she had been drawn to the quarterstaff, a long, smooth wooden rod that was comfortably thick and left her opponents with cracked bones and heavy concussions. After intense training under a programmed hologram she now referred to as "Kugo," she had sufficient knowledge of the weapon to land a few hits on her teacher while they sparred. Kugo was an abnormally amazing fighter, and the few strikes that struck (heehee) confirmed to him that Pan had mastered the staff.

Pan thought often that it was a VERY good thing that Kugo was a hologram, and a friendly one at that. He could have killed her in an instant had he wanted to, and had the computer's safety constraints allowed it. As it was, after every lesson Pan departed the holodeck with battle scars galore and caused a sickbay nurse to become very angry.

Later on, in much the same body-breaking and nurse-patience-provoking way, Pan learned to use the broadsword (a personal favorite and the only weapon she truly perfected), the longbow(LOTS of upper body strength needed there, folks), and the Kas'Gharmel, a set of three silver razor-sharp discs that, in the event of the thrower missing the target, returned, much like a boomerang. They had scared her half to death the first time she used them; whenever they returned, they came too fast, and she always thought they would cut her catching hand in half. She finally suppressed this phobia when Kugo gave her a black glove for her right hand which had a strip of indestructible metal that conformed to her thumb and first finger. Kugo never let her forget her fright, though.

Soon Kugo realized that Pan was a force to be reckoned with when, in a sparring match, Pan using the quarterstaff and Kugo using a curved sword, she whipped his holographic butt. He tried to lessen the pride Pan was feeling by stating that 'anyone with a quarterstaff can beat a swordsman, even if he's an expert.' Nevertheless, she enjoyed holding her victory over his head.

With this realization came the inevitable. Kugo decided he had taught Pan all he could, professing that even though he was wise and a superb fighter, his program was limited. He also knew that Pan had been spending large amounts of time with him, ignoring the outside world. He found that he didn't know anything at all about her life outside her fighting. "Pan," he said at what was to be their last meeting together, "This is our last meeting together." (I know! I'm sorry, I had to. Association to Stamp Out Redundancy Association, right?)

Pan was gently bid farewell by the hologram, and the program shut down, leaving her standing in the middle of a bright room, the hum and whirr of technology invading her ears. She stamped her foot angrily. "Why must it end now?" she shouted to the glaring walls. "I have so much to learn! I can't fight! He doesn't realize that! I'm hopeless without him here to guide me!"

&&&&&&&&END OF FLASHBACK-TYPE THING (sobs from the readers-I know, I know…)&&&&&&&&

Pan slowly slid down the wall until she was sitting, one leg drawn against her chest by her shaking limbs and the other sprawling across the carpeted floor. She was haunted by the need to learn more and more, to become stronger than the weakling she thought she was, and she hated it. It pushed her to return daily to the holodeck, despite the absence of Kugo, and it had pushed her to open the terrible program she had just experienced.

Her mother had always warned her off from using it; it was, she said, a perfect facsimile of the Janaga Wars that had torn the country of Rafan apart many years ago. Out in the corridor, Pan's dark, glossy hair no longer resembled the stringy mass she had borne while running the Janaga program. Her clothes looked nothing like the stagnant uniform the computer had synthesized. She had been changed physically in the program to resemble Katharos, the tyrant who had instigated and heartlessly finished the Janaga Wars with the destruction of millions of lives. Katharos had been relentless and evil, and the computer had filled Pan's mind with all the thoughts and mindsets Katharos was known to have harbored in her dark mind. Essentially, Pan had become Katharos. She reviled the feeling.

She would never betray her mother's good advice again. She would stick to nice programs, happy programs, programs that involved pink elephants and smiling teddy bears and…No. She wouldn't. She'd use the harsh, war-based programs, she knew it. She had to become more powerful!

Could she ever escape the prison she had built around herself?

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What an ending line. Anyway, on to the next chapter for the editing. Hehe. Review!


	2. No Holodeck For You

w00t! Chapter 2. Man, editing your own crap takes work. And time. Work and time.

Anyways, enjoy de second revamped chapter!

Chapter 2

Pan shook off the sadness that had soaked through her skin and traversed the ship's many corridors, heading towards the turbolift. Her mother, Lieutenant Videl, would be expecting her for dinner soon, and she was not a person to disappoint. The ship Pan now resided on was an impressive one. It was the flagship for the Chikyu-Saiyan Space Fleet (CSSF), employing the finest weapons Capsule Corporation (led by Bulma Briefs, certified genius and self-made millionaire, wife of CSSF Admiral Vegeta) had to offer. It had completed its first flight a mere six months ago, and housed a civilian population of 7583 and a crew of around 300. All residents, civilian and crew alike, were envied their position, for they had access to the finest ship CSSF had to offer.

It was called the Argo. Among other things, it boasted several holodecks, a beautiful arboretum, a well-equipped shuttle bay, and a cozy mess hall that offered home cooked meals. It was a triumph, all in all, and then the writer decided not to bore the reader with all the grimy details, and got on with the story.

Earth had been space-savvy for quite some time. Many different ships traversed the solar system: science ships, medical ships, low-class law enforcers, and, fewest and strongest, the elite Explorers. These were the ships on which the CSSF and Capsule Corporation spent most of their capital. The Explorers were sent into unknown territories to form peaceful bonds with new peoples and find raw materials. Due to the inherent danger of all Explorer assignments, they were equipped with the best weapons, technology, and crew. The Argo had the best of the best.

Its captain, Jason Greco, was considered to be the most intelligent and deductive mind of the elite class. Anyone chosen for his crew was given a great honor; no one refused to board. Pan's mother and father had both been assigned, to their shock; Videl to the bridge crew as tactical officer and Gohan to engineering as CEO of his department. Due to their high status in CSSF, they knew Bulma and Vegeta personally, and Bulma welcomed the couple as friends (we all know how Vegeta reacted to this friendship…). Consequently, Pan was allowed free access to almost all of the wonders and rarities the Argo had to offer, and she took full advantage of the privilege. Before discovering the holodeck, she surrounded herself with information from the archives, learning all about CSSF, Capsule Corporation, and technology in general. Her avid mind was quick to pick up complex concepts and ideas, and she soon blossomed into an intelligent young woman.

With the holodeck came Pan's removal from society. She spent all her spare time training, leaving none to learning more or associating with people in general. She became a person who cared nothing, or very little, about her outward appearance. She lost whatever social graces she had had as a child, and scoffed at refinement. Her parents began to worry.

As Pan entered her family's quarters she smelled the familiar scent of fried fish. &I love fish!& she thought with a grin, and she barreled into the kitchen, nearly knocking her father over in the process. "Honey, PLEASE watch where you're going," he said with mock sternness as he ruffled her hair.

"Dad! Don't do-hey! Don't do--I SAID STOP IT!" Pan leapt back from her father's grip and took up a karate stance. "You wanna fight?" She grinned impishly and bounced up and down. "Not in the kitchen, people," Videl said from the stove, using the same commanding tone she employed when dealing with stupid diplomats (BTW, to a tactical officer, dealing with stupid diplomats equals blowing them to smithereens).

"Until next time, _father_," Pan said in a comically deep voice, "and remember: your days are numbered." Gohan laughed and wandered past Pan to the living room. "Is dinner ready? Is dinner ready? Is dinner ready? Is dinner ready?" Pan asked once she entered the kitchen, tugging on her mother's uniform sleeve.

"No it is not, and if you don't leave and keep your father from hanging in the doorway and drooling I will withhold from you your birthright!" Videl huffed in a voice that brooked no argument and turned back to her cooking. Every room in their quarters was equipped with replicators, devices that could form various foods from pure stored energy, but Pan's family liked to save up their energy rations, and besides, replicator artificiality held not a candle to actual food.

Gohan sulked away, followed closely by Pan. Videl had obviously been through a rushed and hectic day, and it wasn't very smart to push her to higher levels of anger. Videl was outright scary if you put her up to it. Gohan quaked in fear if she ever got into one of her non-frequent yet memorable 'moods.' On the whole, though, Videl was funny and loving, and it wasn't hard to see why Gohan had fallen in love with her almost instantly. Pan admired their relationship, though she never would admit it. They had something there that Pan had never had with anyone, something she didn't quite understand. She yearned for it.

"Pan, I think we need to talk." Gohan, sitting on a blue sofa, smiled encouragingly at his daughter and patted the seat beside him. Uh-oh. Pan knew that look. Gohan was about to give her some 'advice.' She made an educated guess as to the object of the discussion.

"Is this about the holodeck?" Gohan raised an eyebrow, and Pan knew she had hit the nail on the head. He nodded.

"Your mother and I have noticed that for some time now, you have spent almost all of your free time, which is a lot, training. It isn't healthy." Pan protested, but her father cut her off. "You know it isn't. You don't even eat lunch unless Videl orders you to come home at noon. You don't associate with people your age at all. Can you even name one person your age on this ship?" Pan was silent, a troubled look on her face.

"Yes," she tried. He frowned at her. She sighed. "No."

"I thought not. You see, it is important for you to learn how to converse with other people. People are important. Friends are important. You'll need them later on, I assure you. I don't know what I would have done without my brother or Vegeta."

"Vegeta!" Pan exclaimed. The man was an outright antisocialist. Hold on. She was too, wasn't she? She sighed and continued to listen.

"So, your mother and I have decided…" Pan crossed her fingers and held her breath, preparing for the worst. "to ground you from holodeck use for six months." Pan growled in outrage. Her ready protest was stopped quickly when Gohan talked over her. "The crew has already been informed not to allow you access to ANY holodeck, and if you somehow get past them, the computer won't let you run a program anyway. During your free time, you will take up a position on the crew itself." He paused and grabbed her hand. She pulled it away and refused to look at him. "This is a great honor, Pan, and it was very difficult to arrange. After six months' time has passed, you will be allowed access to the holodeck twice a week, and that is all, for the duration of your stay on the Argo. It that clear?"

Pan knew any protestation would go unheeded. "Yes." She fumed for awhile just to rub in the fact that she was mad before asking her most prominent question. "What position? I mean, what am I going to be working at for these six months?" She just hoped it wasn't anything involving handling the public. She hated associating with people she didn't know.

"We both know that you are very good at handling computers, so you will start out as an acting ensign in engineering. That way I can help you if you have any problems. If you work hard and do well, the captain has said that you have the chance of moving up in rank. But this will not happen unless your mother and I see that you have begun talking with other people. Clear?"

"Yes." She continued to avoid his gaze, and shifted a bit so her back was to him. Gohan sighed, and Videl came into the room. She began to talk soothingly, but Pan heard nothing. She was seething. She was fuming! She was a volcano about to erupt, so the natives had best be running wildly in the general direction of 'away!' She felt herself begin to shake physically and stood abruptly. "Sorry, but I need some time to think." She about ran out of the room, holding her stormy emotions tightly inside, her feet pounding down the corridor. She had to be alone. She sure wasn't going to be able to do that for a long time after today. She blindly sped through the halls, knocking down various crewmen and civilians in her wake, until she found what she was looking for. The arboretum. She stormed in.

Those who were already enjoying the peaceful trees were frightened by her sudden entrance and exited the room promptly, much to Pan's satisfaction. She dove under a thick jack pine, curled into a ball, and cried.

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A/N: There we are! And now, may you feel quite free to review! I promise I won't release the tiger if you do…


	3. The Test Thingamabob! (gasp! the horror!...

Ah, the third chapter. Edit, edit, edit. I may give up on this before the west is won.

Chapter 3

A week later Pan was working as an acting ensign in engineering. Her father ran a tight schedule, but he was fairly lenient on her first couple days. Pan sat in a swivel chair facing a smooth, black, inclined panel which bore a grid of little squares, each of them buttons that could be used to input information. Her access to the main computer was, of course, limited, in case she typed in the command to self-destruct or anything. The buttons themselves were blank; Pan had to memorize the functions they were bound to. She picked the system up quickly and was now furiously clicking her fingers over the board. A deluge of beeps followed every passerby, and even Gohan was impressed. A little.

Gohan had given Pan a large stack of commands that had to be inputted by 2100 hours. Pan rubbed the back of her neck, cringing at the pain it caused. She was tired and overworked, but for some reason, she felt an urge to keep going, to push on through the fatigue and tedium. Perhaps she was developing a work ethic?

The area around her was blessedly empty. In their efficiency, the other cremembers had finished their assignments and were very likely lounging in the mess hall, celebrating her distress. At least, that's what Pan felt they were doing. She was just happy they weren't here to make her uncomfortable and distract her from the task at hand. She hated it when people chattered at her as she worked.

"Hey! My name's Bra! What's yours?" A peppy looking young woman suddenly materialized at Pan's side. Pan stopped typing long enough to glare at her new acquaintance. She had spoken waaay to soon…

"Pan," she said shortly, and continued typing. She didn't have time for small talk.

"What a cool name! You in engineering now? I am too. I'm fairly new, but I am getting the hang of it. I just came by to drop off a report when I saw you here, working and looking rather lonely. Need some help?" All this came out within half a second. Pan couldn't think of any way to get rid of her. She had to work, for crying out loud!

"I…" Pan got out before the girl started in again.

"That's great. You know, you are a nice looking person. I mean, you have no makeup on or anything, but that's cool. I don't wear makeup all the time, either. Anyway, what do you think of the new system…"

Pan couldn't help but smile a little at the flood of speech escaping this woman's lips. She hadn't said as much herself in that entire week. &What a strange girl,& she thought. &For some reason, she makes me want to know her better.& Pan sighed. &I guess I might as well forget typing for now.& Pan waited for a gap, and then inserted herself.

"Hey, IaminengineeringandIamnewtoowouldyouliketohelpmewiththistyping?" She said it as fast as she could, not trusting Bra to refrain from interrupting. The talkative chick took a few seconds to process Pan's run-on sentence, and then nodded.

"Sure I'll help. I have nothing else to do. Hey, you think maybe we could go for hot chocolate or something afterwards? I am so in the mood for a hot chocolate." Bra proceeded to sit down at the console next to Pan's, taking a few of the papers she held in her lap and starting to type, all while talking about how hot chocolate was her favorite hot drink but that in the neighborhood of drinks in general it was pretty mediocre. Pan just stared at her for a minute, dumbfounded, before shaking her head and resuming her work.

With both of them typing, they finished the task with a couple hours to spare, and decided (well, Bra decided, anyway) to go get that hot chocolate. Pan followed meekly, in awe of this woman with an unnatural gift of speech.

Their one-sided conversation continued in the mess hall, shifting at different times from drinks to food to cute guys, according to whatever passed through Bra's line of vision. Pan was fine with listening; she wasn't a very talkative person, but she was happy to hear of Bra's opinions and attitudes. The fact that Bra was talking to her at all made her feel wanted in a satisfactory sort of way. Pan liked it. Was this what friendship was like?

As the day grew late and Pan found herself suppressing yawns, Bra stood and beamed at Pan. "This was great. We should do it again sometime. Next week?" She waited for a bare nod. "Great. I like you, Pan. You are a nice person. Keep it up. See ya tomorrow, K? K. Bye!" Bra skipped away, leaving Pan at a loss for words and almost missing the humming sound that Bra's constant talking had created in her ears. Sighing, she rose and headed for her quarters.

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The next morning, Gohan had a smile on his face. "Videl, did you know that our daughter has diligently finished all her work on time and made a friend in the process?" He grinned across the table at Pan. "I know all about your little hot chocolate escapade. Lt. Novak told me all about it. It seems you've found a person to talk to, eh?"

Pan smiled, but couldn't feel any satisfaction for finishing her work. After all, she had had some help. "Dad, I need to admit something…"

"What, that your new friend helped you with your assignment?" Pan blinked, confused. "Don't worry, dear. I don't expect you to take on such a large job and do it all by yourself!"

"Huh? Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" She sighed for the fiftieth time that week. "Why is my life so annoying?"

"Aw, come on, you just aren't enjoying yourself enough." Gohan said cheerfully. He must have been recommended for a promotion or something, because he was elated. "I have a surprise for you, dear Panny!"

"Oh, no! Not a surprise! Anything but a surprise!" She groaned.

"Yes! Guess what it is!" He smiled.

"No."

"Come on, guess."

"You bought me a reindeer."

"Not quite. I talked to Captain Jason!"

Pan looked at him silently for a while. "Great."

"He has been watching your progress reports, and he's impressed! He says that if you keep this up, he might promote you! Get ready for extra duties, kid, 'cause he's watching!" Gohan looked extremely proud, and it was hard for Pan not to smile like a foolish child basking in the warmth of her father's admiration. She held it down to a small curve of the mouth, attempting to keep whatever shred of pride she had left. She was actually happy that her parents were proud! She disgusted herself.

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The 'extra duties' consisted of an engineering survey she had to administer (which was useless, stupid, and a waste of time and energy, in her opinion) and a daily report on the warp core's uranium output. She had to catalogue various readings, graph them, write down extrapolations, and conclude, all using a device with a whole other button system she had to memorize. For an elite craft, this ship was pretty inefficient. Pan handled the extra work well enough, sometimes getting help from Bra, who seemed to show up next to Pan's console quite frequently. Pan didn't mind the company anymore; she was actually beginning to enjoy the one-sided conversations she and Bra had.

On one such inefficient day, Pan was surprised to find that Bra didn't appear at her side as usual. She stood up from her swivel chair and surveyed engineering. It was empty except for herself. Strange; usually there was at least one officer on duty to keep an eye on the area.

She padded across the bay, eyeing empty consoles and flickering lights, when her ears were suddenly invaded.

"Blaeuouat! Beeeeep! Blueaueut! Baaaaaat! Bwwaaaaaoop!"

The loud, obnoxious blaring of the Red Alert warning system made her jump ten feet in the air (aah, hyperbole). She ran to the nearest console, typing frantically, trying to discover the problem. From the various readouts and codes she gathered that something was happening that was bad and that she should do something to fix it. Stupid troubleshooting system…

Pan darted around the cove, searching for answers and not finding any, all the while hearing a Red Alert that was increasing in volume and speed. Her nerves were going haywire. She had to do something!

"Okay, Pan! Calm DOWN!" she shouted. She breathed deeply, thinking of the meditation exercises Kugo had taught her before he left her. Before he left her. Why did that baka have to leave? "GRRRRRRRR!" Pan felt annoyed with her collective life experiences. She saw her flaws and hated them. She saw other's failures and hated them. She heard that STUPID ALERT and hated it! She had to make it stop!

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Pan charged over to the warp core, typing quickly into the main console. "Okay. Problem? See readout 4-a. Okay. Trouble. Danger. See this. See that. Just TELL ME ALREADY!" She saw a single message appear on the console's screen:

warp core breech

"Oh, crap! This is not good!" She thought rapidly. What do you do with a warp core breech? Don't let it explode. It's definitely exploding, buster! Gotta save the ship. Gotta get rid of the stupid thing! Pan thought of the solution. Eject the warp core!

She typed the command, stopped, then realized that the computer would react to a command from her voice. "Computer, eject the warp core!"

AUTHORIZATION PLEASE 

"What? Saving the ship requires authorization?"

PLEASE REPEAT THE QUESTION 

"Forget it! Just eject the warp core!"

AUTHORIZATION PLEASE 

She thought frantically and suddenly recalled the ID callsign Gohan had given her before-

"ID code 56 Pan Kappa Tolstoy!" She held her breath, thinking there was no way it could be that simple.

ACKNOWLEDGED 

Huh. Okay, then.

Just as quickly as the pounding Red Alert had begun, it ceased. The warp core, however, decided not to eject. &What? What now?& Pan thought, sweat sliding down her cheeks and her breath speedily heaving. A man entered the room.

"Congratulations," he stated simply. He was standing in front of a bright screen, and Pan found it hard to recognize his features. "You have passed the test."

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Haright, the third chapter stands corrected. Be nice readers and review!


	4. On to Greater Things

Lalalaaaa, editing the 4th chapter, enjoying myself immensely and all that. Oh, and this is the first appearance of Trunks. Ahem. On with the story.

Chapter 4

He sauntered through the silver halls, his footsteps falling lightly on the smooth surface beneath him, a disdainful smirk plastered on his face every time a lowly student wandered past. They obviously had every right to be in the same building as himself, but he had been taught not wear his thoughts on his sleeve. So he kept the façade, trying to impersonate his father as closely as he could. "He just about owned the stupid place, anyways," his father always said. He sighed as he thought how he wished he could act as himself. His father's demands were cutting his actual character to pieces. The whole student body practically hated his guts.

His angry thought pattern was cut off abruptly as he entered a large atrium. The vestibule was sided with dark marble, and sleek wooden benches lined the walls. The ceiling arched high above a glowing floor, meeting itself in the center of the roof at an intricate skylight. Natural light filtering through this window provided the only illumination. Most people felt a strange sense of awe every time they entered this chamber. Trunks, however, was caught up in his troubled thoughts, and ignored the surrounding magnificence.

Glancing at his expensive golden timepiece, he noted that he was short on the time he had to get to class safely before his next teacher would throttle him. "Imagine, low-class professors given the ability to throttle _him!"_ he could almost hear his father say. "Inconceivable!" (You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. heehee) Ah, well. That's what you get when your father is powerful and pushy and has a reputation to keep.

He sped up a little, but not so much as to make the few people who were wandering the atrium think he was in a hurry. He had a reputation to keep, too.

After a few minutes, he entered his classroom, a well-lit place that covered a large area. Passing the front table, at which his rickety professor now sat, he strode, chin up and trademark 'I-am-better-than-you' look on his face, to his seat. Unfortunately, the underpaid middle-aged dictator he had to defer to did not play favorites.

"You are late, Mr. Briefs. Get your hand ready to write, because after the assignment I give you, you are going to want to chop the sorry thing off."

Trunks growled deep in his throat.

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The room Pan now stood in was definitely NOT engineering. Its walls were bright, and she could hear the whir of a computer. She was on a holodeck! Pan narrowed her eyes in anger. She didn't care in the least who this schmuck standing before her was, she was MAD.

"Test? This thing was a TEST? I have just been through the worst experience in my life! I thought I was going to die! No-one was here to help me! I wasn't prepared for this! The stupid computer didn't even listen to me! How dare…"

"I have not given you permission to speak freely, ensign." His voice was not loud or obtrusive, but it had a strength and wisdom behind it that made Pan stop her barrage of complaints as soon as it had begun. She folded her arms and waited for more. Wait a minute…had he said 'ensign?'

"Yes, that's correct, miss." He laughed softly, shaking his head. If only he would move away from that stupid screen so she could see who he was! "You have passed the test, the test that every officer is given before he or she can earn rank. Had you failed, you would have been a civilian for the rest of your life." He shifted slightly, and Pan squinted, trying desperately to make out the man's features. She could tell that he was tall. That was a fat lot of help.

"Excuse me….sir, but you addressed me as 'ensign.' I have no rank, as you yourself implied. I am only acting as an ensign would."

"Observant, aren't you? Yes, well I have been following your duties for a little while. You seem to show promise. You are diligent, hard working, intelligent….yes, I think you will turn out just fine." He moved forward.

"Excuse me, sir? I don't understand." Her eyes widened. "Have you just promoted me?" She thought about how her parents would feel to have an officer as a daughter. A young officer, at that.

"Yes, but it isn't quite a sealed deal. You see, the test you took was not for a promotion; it was for entrance to CSSF Academy." Pan gaped. The Academy was one of the best schools available. It took only the most ambitious young men and women into its halls, and employed the best professors, many of whom had been active officers in the CSSF. All graduates of the two-year school headed on to become high-ranking officers on advanced ships. Pan was amazed. She had been accepted?

"I am proud of you, Pan. If I may call you by your first name, that is…?"

"Yes…yes of course." Pan stated breathlessly. She still couldn't quite grasp her good fortune. The mysterious man stepped away from the bright screen, allowing Pan to see his gruff, cleanly shaven cheeks, square jaw, bold cheekbones, and prominent brow.

"Captain Greco!" She gasped and babbled her apologies quickly for speaking out angrily, mentally kicked herself, and breathed deeply to calm down.

"You will be sent to the Academy in one weeks' time, allowing for a few final good-byes and the packing of necessary items. Don't bother with too much clothing; uniforms will be provided when you arrive. You should probably bring a nice dress and a couple casual outfits; anything more will just take up needed space. Your rooms are not large.

"I must remind you that though you are currently an ensign, once you arrive you will be designated a civilian student. You have no rank at the Academy. Your privileges will be returned to you once you graduate. And here's some free advice: Be careful around some of your fellow students. Anyone who has had the chance to ride on the Argo, much less serve on it, is envied. People can get overly jealous of your luck, and may verbally insult you, become obtrusive, or even attack you physically. Try to avoid any fights, though. Anyone who enters into a physical quarrel with a fellow student, no matter the reason, will be punished soundly. You think you can remember that?" He smiled kindly.

"Yes, sir." She replied, still a little appalled that she had insulted the Captain of the Argo. "I'll do my best, sir."

"I believe you, Pan. Now go to your quarters. You are relieved from any further duties in order to prepare for your trip."

"Thank you, sir." She waited, remembering a bit of the CSSF etiquette her father had drilled into her head.

"Dismissed." Captain Greco briskly departed, leaving Pan in the empty, buzzing room.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"We are so proud of you, honey!" Videl said, beaming yet standing as straight as a rod, as any officer would. Pan was in the shuttle bay, ensconced by her parents, Bra, a few maintenance officers, and Lt. Novak, who was there to pilot Pan's shuttle. Gohan looked as if he was regretful of her imminent departure, but she knew he wanted her to attend CSSF Academy. He had wanted her to do so all her life.

Bra stepped forward. "Here." She followed up her one-word sentence, an event that almost never occurred with Bra, by handing Pan a small package wrapped in brown paper. "It's a collection of different kinds of hot chocolate. I thought they might make you think of me, so whenever you feel lonely or annoyed, just drink one of those and imagine me chattering away." She sniffled a little bit and looked down. "I'll…I'll miss you, Pan." Pan drew her close friend into a warm embrace and thanked her silently. She knew that if she tried speech, she'd begin bawling in front of her parents. Not something to do if they were high-strung about the whole thing already.

"Be careful around those Academy men, Pan," Bra continued, "They aren't to be trusted. I have a brother going there. He isn't all that nice; I don't think he likes people. Stay away from him, K?" Pan eyed her quizzically. In all their conversations, Bra had never once mentioned that she had a sibling. Funny; come to think of it, she hadn't even mentioned one thing about her family.

"Name?" she asked, just to be on the safe side.

"Trunks," Bra replied, and then she waved and scurried off, sending a "Bye!" over her shoulder. She looked as if she was about to break down.

"Don't get into any fights, dear," Videl began.

"I know, mom. The captain already gave me the 411 on that subject." After smiling at Videl, Pan threw herself into comforting maternal arms. &I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry!& Pan thought, squeezing her mother tightly as she could.

"I love you, dear." Videl got out, before she shut her eyes and gulped.

"I love you too, mom." Pan held on a little longer and then stepped away, grinning. She was then knocked to the side by her father, who lifted her up in the air and moved her around as if she were a toy airplane. Somehow she didn't care that she was being treated like a kid again. She laughed uproariously and held on for dear life. "Dad! Hahaha…Dad! Heehee! Hey!" He finally let her down and hugged her, expressing his thoughts.

"I'll miss you, chica. Never forget that you are a Son, and if anybody messes with you, they will have to face up with me first!" Pan laughed again and moved back, looking at her parents, tears finally pushing their way to the surface.

"I love you guys." It was all she could get out, for the maintenance crew had finished with the shuttle diagnostic and Novak was ushering her into the small craft. She gave a final farewell gesture to her family, and disappeared through a small door, followed by the Lieutenant.

Novak took her seat in front, typing in commands and causing the ship to lift off. The bay door opened and the apprehensive young Pan was on her way.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks flopped onto the couch in his small room at the Academy. His roommate was not known for his skills at organization or cleanliness, so as Trunks fell he came face to face with a pair of raunchy, smelly gym socks. He yelled in disgust and jumped up, hitting his head on the shelf above him in his haste. "Ow!" he yelled, rubbing his pobre cabeza. He sighed, thinking not too fondly on the pile of extra work he had to do tonight. &Guess I'd better cancel that game of racquetball with Goten,& he thought miserably. He decided to call his mom to receive some sympathy before he dove into his assignment.

Trunks pulled out his flat, rectangular telecommunicator, set it on a table, and dialed up Capsule Corp headquarters. A pink-haired young woman appeared on the screen, speaking with a strong Australian accent.

"G'Day! Capsule Corp Headquarters, how may I help you?" He knew her well. She had been his mother's personal secretary for the past five years.

"Yeah, hey Tunio. Could I talk to mom, please?"

"Sure, kid. I'll put her on." She tapped a few commands into the console in front of her and the screen went blank. A moment later, Trunks saw a picture of his aqua-haired mother, Bulma, tapping her fingers and smiling.

"Hey, Trunks! How are you doing at school?"

"Not so good. I just called to get some remonstrance to fill my needs before I have to slave away at some unfairly assigned work. These teachers always keep me on a tight reign." He sighed, running his fingers through his short, lavender hair and resting his forehead in the palm of his hand. "I know they don't want to treat me any better than anyone else, but they're singling me out by treating me worse! It's so annoying sometimes."

"I know, honey. But they do have to make sure not to coddle you; I mean you're already assured a command of a small vessel after you graduate just because of your status. They're just overcompensating in order to be safe. Try to see both sides of the situation," she soothed. "Sorry I can't help you any more than that, but I can't lie to you, sweetie. And I'm in the middle of a big deal right now, so I'd better go. Love you, Trunks! Behave, and beware the devillish chickies who want to marry you!"

Trunks laughed. "I will, mom. Thanks." The screen went blank and Trunks again stood. "Time to get to work, I guess," he said, wiggling his fingers like a magician casting a spell, clenching them into fists, and picking up a pen.

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There. Didn't really edit that one too much. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing…

Anyway, Review! Please?


	5. Stuff Happens

Ah, chapter 5. I remember it well. Enjoy yourself, while I go over it and edit away…

Chapter 5

Pan sat in the cockpit of a type III Ulysses shuttle, soaring through the upper atmosphere over Chikyu-sei. Her fingers were a blur as she entered various flight patterns and countered wind-resistance, easily avoiding the myriad tall towers that littered the large pilot-training field. Of course, the entire thing was only a simulation, but it helped rookies hone their skills as well as any asteroid field would. The main screen in front of Pan displayed another tower, leaning at a slant and blocking her path.

"Shoot! I didn't see that one coming!" She pulled the shuttle up hard, setting the new coordinates efficiently, and barely avoided a head-on collision. "Man, I really need to watch what I'm doing. A collision'll bring my grade down in a majorly bad way!" She slowed the speed of the vessel after noticing that the air around her was atomizing. The program had ended. She opened the exit hatch and jumped out.

"Nice recovery," a tall, blonde-haired guy stated, twisting his pretty-boy mouth into what had to be the most obnoxious attempt at gentility ever recorded. He obviously thought he was the cat's pajamas. He grinned narcissistically, smoothing his hair and straightening his plain gray uniform with square, uncalloused hands attached to relatively muscular arms. Pan quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, not wanting to raise the moron's hopes. He had his uses, if ever she needed a doorstop, so she kept on his good side, although it was exceedingly difficult at times. A short, squat chick with a purple afro and an eight-pound tub of green makeup smeared on her eyelids looked at him adoringly, reaching out to him like a man in a desert dying of thirst would reach out to an oasis. She also obviously thought that he was the cat's pajamas. Pan moved over to the simulation control panel, waiting for her professor to finish with his calculations and reviews of her performance.

She had now been studying at the CSSF Academy for a year and a half, and knew her way around adequately. Piloting was her major; she had enjoyed her first few classes immensely and was shooting a piloting position when she graduated. Due to maternal influences, she had decided to minor in tactical weaponry, learning to control and resourcefully implement ship's weapons. She also took some electives, among them Ship Operations, Hand-to-Hand Combat Forms, Brig Enforcement, and Historical Contexts.

In her spare time (which would have been longer had she any influence) she trained in one of the many gyms on campus, keeping up her proficiency with various weapons. It was during one such training session, sparring with a couple other good fighters, that she had learned more about Bra's brother.

&&&&&&&&&&&&Huzzah! Another FLASHBACK-TYPE THING!&&&&&&&&&&&&

Crack! Pan brought the end of her quarterstaff swiftly into her opponent's jaw. The sound was sickening, but the blow did its job, felling the heavyset human with ease. Pan wiped the sweat of exertion off her brow, flipping her tight, intricate black braid over her shoulder. "Sorry, Brikul, but I win again." She turned around. "Computer, remove pain constraints." Brikul gasped with exhaustion, glad that he was no longer unconscious with a lump on his cheek. It was amazing how the holodeck could simulate a headache so well.

"That's okay, Pan. You deserve it. You really are something, you know that? You should go out for the yearly tournament or something, you could almost win!" He rubbed his neck, feeling the pain of sore muscles even though the Pan-inflicted wounds were gone.

Pan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, almost? I couldn't win it?" She put on her best puppy-dog face. Brikul laughed.

"Very good, Pan. I dunno, but I think you'd be hard pressed to get the first place trophy in that competition." He wandered over to the side of the room, grabbing a white towel and mopping his dripping face. He was probably one of the ugliest guys Pan had ever met, what with his bulbous nose and beady eyes, but she considered him a good friend. He listened well, for a man.

"Yeah, I mean, I tried last year _and_ the year before, but it just isn't possible," Mapiik, a wild-haired man with a scarred face, stated. He always reminded her of a surfer with his carefree tone and "cool" haircut. "And I'm one of the greatest fighters around!" Pan snorted loudly, and then, noticing that the other two were silently staring at her, spoke her mind.

"What is this? Is there some unbeatable force that no student within these walls could ever hope to defeat or something?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Actually, yeah." Mapiik smiled sympathetically. "There is. There exists within these very walls a fighter so strong, so skilled, so completely awe-inspiring, so…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the point. Who is this 'wonder-fighter?' Do I know him?"

Brikul spoke up. "Nah, probably not, seeing as how he doesn't really move with your crowd." Pan huffed impatiently. "Okay, okay. I don't really see how you don't know about him; he's a local celebrity. His name is Trunks Briefs, and he's the son of Bulma Briefs and Vegeta, heir to a fortune, and the best fighter in the Academy. His father is handing him a command when he graduates. I mean, it's only the Armada, a low-class Law-Enforcement jobbie, but still. I'd like a command when I leave! Life isn't fair." He sat on a bench and continued wiping sweat from his body.

"Trunks? I recognize that name…" Pan frowned in thought.

"Of course you do. Everybody knows who Trunks Briefs is. It's impossible not to." Pan waved Brikul's comment away, concentrating on a conversation she had heard a year and a half ago, a conversation she had had with her best friend before she left the Argo.

Bra was Trunks' sister? Bra was the daughter of the most envied couple on Chikyu-sei? Her best friend was a celebrity? Pan continued to muse wonderingly, ignoring the two boys beside her, not noticing that they had slipped off, leaving her to her bubble world.

&&&&&&&&END OF YET ANOTHER BELOVED FLASHBACK-TYPE THING&&&&&&&

"Well, Pan, you did a fairly good job flying. However, you did neglect to notice the most obvious obstacle the program incorporates – the fallen tower, or "low bridge," as we like to call it. I know that failure may have been due to a momentary lapse in concentration, but you of all people know that such a moment of vulnerability can lead to your death. This being the first time you have let your guard down, I will not detract magnanimously from your average. I suggest, though, that you attempt to suppress any future mistakes." He nodded, satisfied that he had finished all speaking that was required, and turned to his work yet again, instantly absorbed. Pan smiled in gratitude and turned to her classmates, both of whom were currently admiring ego-boy's bicep.

"Get over yourself, Galtu." Galtu tore his gaze regretfully from his bacon-esque arm and looked at Pan as if she were a slab of meat in a butcher's window. He was almost drooling, for Pete's sake!

"Hey, beautiful," Galtu began (after he had managed to shut his gaping jaw, that is), "how's about you and me go somewhere? What you think, baby? Is that a groovy plan or what?" He laughed (well, sort of; it was more like a muted gurgle that started deep in his throat and then burst forth with all the coherence and gregarious-ness of a dying cow giving birth to a chicken) and sauntered, trademark lopsided grin on his face, over to the side of the room. He obviously did so in consideration for Pan's well-being, for from the way he was standing she would be able to admire his 'perfect' pectorals. Pan snorted, raised an eyebrow, and proceeded to exit the room by the speediest means possible.

As she passed by, Galtu dared to reach behind him to smack her behind. He never learned. Pan stopped short, confusing the bloke to the point of immobilization, and inspected his position. His left hand was wavering from strain, pointing towards where her bottom region would have been, shivering as if slapped. Pan sighed. The moron had attempted the same stupid move for the past six weeks. No imagination. "Oh, Galtu?" he jumped at her tone.

"Y-y-yes my sweet?" Would he ever learn? He turned around, half expecting a passionate kiss, half realizing what he was about to experience. Pan brought her hand up quickly, clenching it into a fist and sending it straight into his lower jaw. He crumpled as if a ten-ton weight had been dropped directly onto his pretty head. He wouldn't ever win the tournament, that's for sure. She left Galtu to his fumbling admirer, nodding to her oblivious teacher, and skipping in satisfaction.

Pan had recently entered the fabled Academy tournament, having finished most of her finals and realizing she had time to train. She had taken advantage of every free hour, shifting from gym to holodeck, never letting her body rest until it wouldn't have gone on if she had threatened self-mutilation. Unsurprisingly, she was now heading towards the broadsword section of the athletic department.

This department was situated within a large, one-story building with extra levels continuing down into the damp earth, providing a cool haven in which heavy training sessions were ideal. No extra air-conditioning was required, which made the Academy board VERY happy. Flat, obsidian stones of irregular shape were fitted along the outer walls like a puzzle, held together by a metallic, gritty material. The doors were mirrors, only every time Pan approached them, she could see a reflection of everything but herself. It brought about a macabre air, making her feel both ghostlike and unimportant. This was the psychological mindset Pan needed. She welcomed the strange senses she felt here; she embraced them.

Pan stared at her nonexistent image for a while and then entered the edifice, preparing to train with all her soul.

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Ah, the 5th chapter has been edited. I feel so accomplished. Aren't you proud? Review!


	6. More Stuff Happens

And now, I shall venture into the editing of…chapter 6! Gasp. Halfwayish. Only not so much. Anyway, read on.

Chapter 6: Food – The Bringer Together Thingy

Pan flopped into her favorite seat in the mess hall, leaning against one of the bigger indoor trees (an oak, in this instance) and spreading her legs across its thick, twisted roots. She sighed in contentment and stretched, feeling the effects of her latest training session ride along her muscles as she eased them carefully over her head.

Light from a globe far above was broken into a menagerie of small shadows and glowing patches, dappling her clothes and skin like an abstract painting. She smiled in peaceful delight.

"Hey, buddy." Brikul appeared before her and kneeled so she didn't have to crane her neck to see him. "Gonna actually eat some food or sit there and starve to death?" Pan laughed and took the friendly hand he offered. It was time for Pan's mess-hall trauma game, 'Strange Foods From Other Worlds,' hosted by Brikul himself. He always forced her to go out on a limb and eat things that she hadn't ever heard of. It gave him a sense of accomplishment, helping his friend experience the many wonders of the culinary universe.

"Hello, everyone, and welcome to the show!" Brikul used his best game-show host voice, blasting the words over the small groups of people that were conversing nearby.

"Brikul! Not so loud!" Pan hissed. By now, everyone's eyes were on them. She blushed deeply. All previous such 'games' had been carried out semi-quietly, and definitely not in front of a bunch of her peers. Pan grinned at the crowd, hoping to look as normal as was possible considering her situation.

Brikul ignored her protests. He loved performing for crowds. He thrived on applause. "Just go along with me, okay?" he whispered, and then turned to the crowd once more. A boy holding a sign saying 'Applaud' suddenly appeared, holding his burden high above his shoulders. The spectators complied.

"And just in case you wonderful people don't know, this is 'Strange Foods From Other Worlds, and I'm your host, Brikul!" The boy held up the sign again. A couple people laughed. "Today's guest is Pan Son, former resident of the Argo and tournament-applicant somewhat extraordinaire!" Pan sighed, threw all her fears out the window, and began to act the part of an overly-excited fan, jumping up and down and screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Oh! Oh! I can't believe it! I'm on the greatest show in the Academy mess hall! Oh!" She fanned her face violently. Brikul grinned and suddenly unveiled a small aluminum table (which had appeared about the same time as the sign-bearing kid) which bore three plates, each of which held different foods.

"Platter one," Brikul said, indicating the tray on the far left, "holds a steaming bowl of what is known as 'kissintori,' a Falion dish with moss, juju nuts, and squeegies." Pan looked at the alien foods, hopping a little and making a face when she saw something among the grotesque mixture move.

"Platter two, or bowl, I should say, holds within it a triumph of Melutian genetic engineering, the polyploidy Ta'Razin fruit!" The boy held up a different sign saying 'Sounds of Wonderment.' The audience obeyed, yelling "ooh" and "ahhh" in unison. They all laughed yet again at the absurdity of what they were witnessing.

"And platter 3 supports one of my personal favorites, the Porinthic Antinewtonslawofgravity Cake!" It was shaped like a pyramid, but was situated upside-down so that it balanced impossibly on a single point. He stared at the cake in its splendor for a while before continuing his dialogue. "And now, for the very first time ever, Pan Son will have the chance to taste each of these motley comestibles before your very eyes!" Applause came from the crowd. "Platter one!"

Pan turned to the brown goop on the plate in front of her. She had her back to the crowd, thankfully, and had a few seconds to really look closely at what she was going to put in her mouth. She grimaced. It &was& moving. Why did Falions eat everything raw? She took a spoon that sat beside the plate and thrust it into the gooey mess. The audience was now chanting 'Do it! Do it! Do it!' collectively, getting louder with each passing moment. Pan sighed and stuck the spoon into her mouth. The audience was silent. She turned around, swallowed slowly, and stood ramrod straight. The stuff tasted AWFUL! It was like eating roadkill! However, Brikul looked hopeful, and she didn't feel like disappointing him today. A smile graced her lips, and the audience sighed in relief.

"What say you, Pan?" Brikul asked smartly.

"It tastes like chicken!" The audience laughed. She leaned over to Brikul. "I am going to KILL you for this." She said under her breath. He had the nerve to laugh!

"Platter 2!" Pan turned again to look at the bowl of Ta'Razin fruit. She picked up one of the fruits, examining it. It was reminiscent of an egg, but was bite-sized. It was extremely firm to the touch; not rock hard, but rock firm, if that makes any sense. There were smooth ripples on its glassy magenta skin. It reflected the overhead lights like a window would, and Pan almost gasped at its beauty. There were no stem marks that she could see, only the smooth, rippled skin all the way around. It was so tough, though, she doubted her teeth would leave a mark, much less bite into it. She popped it into her mouth, again about-facing so the crowd could observe her reaction. She expected to crack her teeth, but felt the opposite. As soon as her teeth touched the outer surface, it broke, no, it popped, much like a bubble. The thin membrane breeched, her mouth was suddenly flooded with a tangy, fruity liquid that was icy cold, then brutally hot, then fizzy in rapid succession. Then it quickly evaporated off her tongue, leaving a smooth, tasty gas that she breathed in. It caressed her lungs, giving her renewed vigor, and left through her nose as pure air. She widened her eyes in shock. Quite the experience.

Ignoring the bunch of people that were watching her every move, she grabbed a handful of the fruit and jammed them in her pocket.

"I think she likes it, folks!" Brikul yelled, and the crowd clapped excitedly and roared with mock approval. They knew it was all for fun, and indulged the 'actors.'

"Oh, I know! Oh, I am such a brave person! Oh, thank you! Yes!" Pan yelled over the cacophony, emulating an over-enthusiastic champion. She bowed deeply and blew kisses. The crowd loved every bit of it, laughing hysterically. She grinned. She had never before made so many people laugh.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks wandered into the mess hall, hunger pangs piercing his side menacingly. He glanced around the room, aware of the many awed sets of eyes following his every move. Many of them were envious. Most of them were filled with hate. Vegeta's tactics to help him distance himself from the lower classes were certainly working. All he had to do to follow his father's orders was to act exactly like Vegeta. Worked like a charm.

Vegeta had told him many times not to associate with low-echelon pupils, but at first he hadn't listened. After being threatened with a suspension, which Vegeta was certainly capable of, Trunks had been forced to try his best not to befriend or have anything to do with anyone not of high consequence. Trunks had, in consequence, fallen in with a group of elite guys, all related to high-and-mighty military commanders, wealthy merchants, and scientists. The offspring showed none of the supposed intellect of their parents.

The only vaguely smart thing the group had discovered was that Trunks needed them (although this took a rather longer time than it would have with, say, a hamster) and they took advantage (as much as could be expected from, say, a jar of mayonnaise) of this factor. They gave him subtle reminders of his need and pushed their opinions on him with much more force than he would have liked. In essence, they used their position to force Trunks into further spoiling his already slaughtered character. However, Trunks had his wits about him, and was ready to break away from their chokehold as soon as he could get up the courage to defy his father.

The swaggering elites were now hot on his heels, strutting before the women and emitting small disdainful snorts as they passed by lower-class males. Their leader, Keebler, the only member with an IQ higher than a donkey, walked directly beside Trunks, chattering incessantly into his ear. Trunks sighed.

"Hey, look at this, fellas," Nabisco, a short, squat, elf-like kid said, pointing towards a big oak tree. In front of it, a table sat, partially blocking the groups' view of a large mass of people. Keebler eyed the scene with a puzzled expression.

Trunks broke away from his posse, intrigued. He slowly approached the table, at once noticing two animated people moving about, as if performing, in front of the audience. One had a mass of jet-black hair flowing down her shoulders. She was still facing the opposite direction, so Trunks couldn't see her face. She was waving her arms around. The other was a fat, unctuous man, who was currently staring longingly at a strange-looking foodstuff. The girl noticed this and turned to the side, allowing Trunks to see…

"Hey, Trunks! Whatcha doin? Do you know what's happenin'?" Keebler stepped up beside him.

"I…don't know." He was staring at a face that was by his standards rather normal. Her profile wasn't homely; she was pleasant to look at, but her eyes bore unbecoming circles beneath them, as if she hadn't slept in a really long time. Her demeanor carried with it a sense of mystery, though. He was drawn towards her. The girl turned away again, and Keebler waved a hand in front of Trunks' face.

"Wake up, Trunks! Hello Trunks!" Trunks growled and looked at the annoying little brat. Keebler shied away for a moment, but shook off his fear boldly. "You starin' at that cute little black-mopped numba? 'Cause if you is, you can just ferget her. I just realized who she is." Trunks raised an eyebrow. He had NOT been staring. "Yeah. You see, you is an elite puyson. Yous got connections. Know what I'm sayin? But that one over der is a whole other story. You can't have her, cause she's an Argonaut."

"A what?"

"Argonaut! She was stationed on the Argo, the classiest ship in the fleet, before she got here! She and us don't mix, you see?" Trunks was disgusted. He had heard of the underlying animosity some students had for 'Argonauts.' There had been stories of fights and bashings breaking out due to jealousy. Keebler was up to something. Tiny gears were whirring pitifully in his miniscule brain. Trunks had to go with the flow, though, to keep himself in his safe hovel.

"So she isn't worth our time, then?" He asked, hating that he had to defer to this slimy little runt, but trying to point the boy's attentions away from his obvious desire to harm the Argonaut.

"Exactly. Now you get my point. But maybe a little time wouldn't be badly spent with regards to puttin' her in her place." His tone was menacing, and Trunks knew he was thinking up some trick to play. He thought fast, trying to come up with some way to cease the impending act. But he could not do so without angering the 'gang' and alienating his only buffer against the anger of his father. He fell into a compliant silence, watching the inevitable horror (and when I say 'horror' with regards to a plan of Keebler's sensibilities, I mean 'as horrific as the energizer bunny') unfold before his eyes.

Keebler drew the group together, whispering a few points of his newly formed plan. Trunks' face fell. Whoever this Argonaut was, she wasn't going to appreciate such embarrassment. She would probably hate him for the rest of his life if she knew he had any hand in it. He had to think of some way to stop Keebler.

The gang began to creep up behind the Argonaut and her friend. The audience ignored their approach; they were laughed hysterically at the fat guy, who was now dancing a little jig whilst eating a piece of egg-shaped fruit. Trunks followed carefully behind the rest, trying to hide his face from those around him, but knowing that if he forsook his 'pals' now, he would be facing up with a very lonely school year.

Keebler crouched behind the table and, hidden from view, stealthily snatched a slice of cake that was sitting in a convenient spot directly above him. He snickered as if he were a genius, and passed the slice to Nabisco. Nabisco handed the cake directly to Trunks, who looked at the frosting-covered thing blankly.

"Come on, you lout, carry out the plan!" Trunks glared at the spindly, malicious boy and thought about what he was about to do. Shove the cake in the Argonaut's face. How complicated and scientific! This must have taken Keebler years to develop. Trunks sighed, and seeing as the girl would probably not receive too much emotional damage and Keebler might give up on his animosity once she was 'put in her place,' he rose, walked up to her, and shoved the cake in her general direction.

She, though, had noted his every move, and, as Trunks was bringing the cake towards her, she ducked, grabbed a slice of her own, and thrust it directly into _his_ face, all without taking one direct look at him. She apologized to Brikul, glared at him, and stormed away, leaving a very cake-encrusted Trunks standing dumbfounded in front of a very large group of people who did not have a very high opinion of him in the first place. (Ain't it an image we'd all LOVE to see? Just for a good laugh? Come on, admit it.)

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"The committee meeting will now come to order!" Ambassador Rerun slammed a mallet down several times, quieting the group of elders seated at the long wooden table. "Now. This meeting has been called in order that we may discuss the upcoming Academy tournament. We need to redesign the rules to apply to our newer, younger generation of applicants, fix up the old tournament stadium, and redefine the sections of competition. Due to space constraints, we will also be forced to eliminate some of the competitors before the actual tournament, and the CEO of the athletic department is going to handle that. Our chief reporter will now give us the list of suggestions…"

Following the meeting, construction commenced, training became more focused, and the furious competition to qualify began.

&&&&&

Yay! 6 has been edited!

Will Pan qualify for the preliminaries (or whatever they are)? Will she fight Trunks? Will she win if she does? What do YOU think?

Tune in next time for another exciting chapter of whatever this thing is called!

And feel free to review.


	7. A Battle of Sorts...

Ah, editing. So much fun fun fun. Hey I forgot how much I liked this fight scene. Read it! And then maybe review!

Chapter 7

"Very good, Pan. I really don't think you need to worry about not being able to fight in the tournament. Your skills far surpass those of most of the students here. Be careful not to violate any major rules, and I'm positive you have a secure position in the first round." The gnarled athletic trainer hobbled over to the side of the large room, clicking a few buttons and sagging tiredly into his seat. "I think it would be best for you to get some rest now."

"But Klak, I have to be as ready as possible for this thing. I know there's stiff competition, and I want to be at my best when I go for the win. Please allow me to continue training?" She clasped her hands together and grinned hopefully, ignoring the drops of sweat rolling down her aching back. She had been working hard lately, perhaps too hard; but she was determined to put up a good fight against this Trunks guy. She could beat him, she knew it.

"Pan, you could seriously hurt yourself, and then you wouldn't have any chance at all." He grumbled, aware that this argument was seriously cutting into his nap time.

"But I need the training. Couldn't I just try simple sparring? Then I could feel out the way some of the other guys fight and learn to avoid any injuries in the actual tournament. It makes sense, right?" She leaned forward in anticipation.

"Fine. I'll allow sparring. But not here. If you spar, I want you to do it in the athletic battle areas. And don't fight with anyone better than you! You can't…"

"Okay, thanks! See ya!" She ran off, having shut off her auditory nerves as soon as permission was given. Klak sighed, lowered his head, and fell asleep.

Pan sped down the cool hallways of the building, hearing clips of conversations and grunts of physical exertion in turn, focusing her eyes on her destination. She could see the door to the sparring courses easily, it having the advantage of both largeness and redness. She approached it with confidence. She was ready to take on anyone. Anyone but those who were unskilled.

She shoved open the heavy metal barrier and stepped into the compound. The dark hardwood floor beneath her sneakered feet supported a large, bulky magazine which contained within its steel mesh cages a variety of different weapons. Pan eyed the display, finally deliberating on a long, slightly curved broadsword with a black blade and a devilishly sharp tip. It was engraved along its side with a simple oblong dragon's eye superimposed over an intricate Celtic knot. The symbol was repeated on its dark leather-wrapped hilt, which was long enough for two hands to grip it simultaneously. Pan squeezed the hilt, admiring how comfortable it felt in the palms of her hands, and swung the sword slowly, testing the balance and weight carefully. It sliced the air as if it were butter. She smiled in satisfaction and ambled over to an opposing wall.

Sounds of victory and groans of defeat could be heard, pounding against their respective doors. The doors were square little openings which provided no hint of the great capacity of the rooms they guarded. The doors were crammed together and situated in two long rows, one above the other. Most of the combat rooms were occupied due to the impending tournament, but Pan found a vacant one that was to her liking. She walked up to its control panel.

Name? The computer queried. Pan smirked. She never gave her real name; she loved being an anonymous rogue. She tapped in her "code" name, followed by some further information. The readout that was given back to her was as follows:

NAME: Carina Vela

PREFERRED WEAPON: Broadsword

PREFERRED SPARRING PARTNER: Elite

MASKED/UNMASKED: Masked

TIME CONSTRAINTS: One hour

INVITATION: Hey, all you elitists who think you can shove all your disdain in my face, come in here and take me on. We'll see who the REAL fighter is!

The 'invitation' was a required field. The message she gave would be scrolled across the top of her room's door, acting as incentive for whoever was hungering for a fight. Since she had claimed the room, all of her requirements would bind her sparring partner fully. It was good to be punctual.

Pan pressed a few commands into the panel again, causing the small door to slide open with a strained WHOOSH. She ducked in and began to warm up.

&&&&&&&&&&

A disgruntled Trunks stalked behind Keebler and Nabisco as the two stupid orcs led him through the athletic complex. He was seriously considering attacking from behind and wringing their necks, but he restrained himself…barely.

"Come on, Trunks. You're lagging. We wanna get there soon, or we'll lose all the good rooms to the lower classes." Nabisco nodded emphatically, stupidly supporting his leader's statement. Trunks rolled his eyes. They wanted fast? He'd show them fast.

Trunks gave the backs of their heads one final glare before taking off like a shot through the halls. He could hear their shouts of surprise and anger for a mere moment, and then silence. Air whipped his smooth, lavender hair into a frenzy behind his head and crashed through his ears like a raging waterfall. He grinned sardonically and dove through the large, red door that marked the sparring area.

Pausing for a few seconds to gather his breathing into a normal rate, he leaned his hands on his knees, hunched forward, and gazed around the room, shaking slightly. He hadn't done something that spontaneous in a long time. He enjoyed it. A few people in the corner were looking at him strangely, but he was used to such gawking, and ignored them. He wandered over to the cage, eyes roving over the admirable display of weapons. He was searching for his prized piece…but it was gone. His eyes narrowed in anger. Someone was using his sword!

"Ityrko, my sword is gone! Who is using it?" A young, dark-haired man looked up from his observation of the sparring rooms with a questioning glance.

"For one thing, it isn't yours, Trunks. And anyway, you've hardly used it in the past few weeks. You've been working on hand-to-hand techniques." Trunks sighed. He had wanted to increase his abilities by working with his hands as well as a multitude of different weapons. He knew the broadsword as well as any expert, so there had been no reason to continue working with his favorite weapon. However, he still liked to fight with it from time to time.

"Well who, may I ask, is currently using the sword?" Ityrko gestured towards an Inviting door, its telltale scrolling marquee blaring bright green above its frame.

"An anonymous warrior is in there, waiting for an elite challenger, using your sword. Are you up to a fight?" Ityrko smiled knowingly. Trunks would never back down from a challenge.

"This soldier had better hope he can live up to the reputation of that sword." Trunks grabbed a long, silver broadsword, slid the expected spherical mesh mask over his head, checked his saiyan armor, and hopped into the room.

&&&&&&&&&&

YOUR CHALLENGE HAS BEEN ACCEPTED 

Pan smiled. She had already had this pleasure twice today, both concerning haughty little boys, both ending in her winning absolutely. She wondered how pitiful this one would be. Apparently the broadsword was not a well-taught weapon at the Academy. Slipping on her fiery mask, the decorative flames hiding her coal-black hair, she took up an indifferent, subservient stance and waited. Better that her opponent underestimated her at first. Her back remained straight, though. She would not entirely humble herself.

A pair of tall white boots appeared in the doorway she was facing, followed by some well-turned thighs, a durable looking armor covering a solid torso, and a silver mesh mask that resembled such that were used in fencing. The newcomer lowered himself from the vertical chute, using his arms to slow his descent. He had very strong arms; that was noticeable at least. He moved forward warily, his footfalls echoing loudly in the dead silence of the room. Twisting his arms over his head, he grabbed the long hilt of a sword that was held between his shoulder blades and slid it out slowly. The grating sound of metal against leather made Pan cringe, but she hid her weakness behind her devilish mask. This guy looked indestructible.

That was what she wanted, though. Exactly what she wanted. Now she was to be challenged. Now she could experience what it was like to fight a good fight. She was ready. She drew her broadsword, feeling it grind against the sheath that hung loosely against her hip, realizing the heaviness of her armor that threatened to topple her if she wasn't careful. Drawing on her knowledge, she widened her stance, crouched, and spun the sword expertly and fluidly around her left side. It moved behind her back and then before her, sending bursts of air against her skin with its proximity. She let it come to a jolting halt immediately above her head in her right hand, its point aiming directly at her adversary's head. Her left hand was held out below the sword with a single finger protruding, serving to calm her and hold her right arm steady.

Her opponent, who had observed her warily and…patiently during her display now took her immobility as a signal to commence his small opening 'dance.' He lowered his sword gently, and then with one single motion drove the point towards the ground, stopping shortly when the point was just about to pierce the surface. For some reason, Pan had a sudden frightening image flash through her mind of the point of that sword hovering just so above her throat. She almost gulped, but suppressed the urge and concentrated on her left finger. It stopped wavering nervously and stilled, bringing calmness to Pan as it did so. Kugo's methods were working like a charm.

She took a quick second to notice the vast difference between hers and her fellow fighter's armor. Pan hadn't bothered with much, simply wearing a leather jerkin and some padding around her shoulders. Those she had fought previously hadn't had any chances at hitting her, much less deliver a serious blow to her abdomen. Her tattered sneakers looked ridiculous compared to the shiny, tough leather boots this man wore. She chuckled at the strange sight, calming her nerves and putting her opponent off guard all at once. He leaned back, confused for a moment, and Pan took her opening.

She heaved herself forward, using all the power in her legs to propel her ready sword towards its victim. The man was not so easily tricked, though. He recovered quickly and stepped aside efficiently. If he was at all surprised at her vivacity, he did not show it. He followed his defense with a quick forward kick into her stomach. Maybe she should have worn some armor…

Pan was not so easily crossed, though; she dismissed the jolt of pain the kick had caused, and as she was still falling forward she used her momentum to she twist her body around and brought her left elbow up sharp, landing a heavy blow to the back of the man's head. She finished by breaking her fall with her right arm and rolling up until she was on her feet.

The man was standing already, the infamous creature! His arms rested lightly on his sword before him, and he stood as if he was about to go to sleep. Pan knew differently, though. "Good try, 'Carina.' But perhaps you should try employing some strategy before you charge into me, leaving yourself completely open."

Pan smirked. She knew what she was doing. She paused, though, and was about to speak, but decided against it. Let the man think she was male. It would eat all the more into him when she unveiled herself at the end, victorious.

"Nothing to say? Alright then. A pity you won't be able to have any meaningful last words."

--Whatever, buddy,-- Pan thought, readying herself for his imminent attack. --Watch out, ego, 'cause you're going down.--

Ego (for Pan decided to call him this to avoid confusion amongst the readers) lifted his sword slowly and paused, waiting for the right moment. Pan was going to drive that disdainful posture out of him if it took everything she had. He was mocking her! Pan twirled her sword magnificently and attacked, not allowing the man to gather his wits fully. She slashed a few times in his general direction, feeling out his reaction time and recognizing that he was attempting the same.

The two parried that way for a while, clanging their blades slowly yet firmly, revealing to each other more and more of their fighting prowess every time they clashed. Sweat from concentration as well as physical exertion popped out on Pan's brow, but she ignored it. She wondered if Ego was feeling any of this.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks gritted his teeth, meeting the boy's attacks blow for blow. So far, it seemed that he himself was on top, but he knew his opponent was holding back. A very good thing that he was, too.

The kid had not bothered to wear any armor, which meant that he was either foolhardy or rightfully confident. He was rather skinny, though. His strength came more from an ability to keep going, it appeared, than from brute muscle. Mind over matter. Possibly.

Trunks was mystified by his opponent; Carina was an unusual name. It had to be an alias for fighting. He wondered that this obviously high-class fighter would want to keep his true identity undisclosed. However, Carina didn't seem to want to chat about his name, so Trunks moved his mind back to the battle.

He swung his sword mechanically, paying less attention to attacking than to determining Carina's battle consistencies. Knowledge of these could greatly aid him later on. He had a tendency to swing through towards Trunks' middle, leaving his side somewhat open. However, this was so obvious, it was probably a tactic to get Trunks to go for the open side, allowing for another attack. Trunks' mind continued whirring with probabilities and counterattacks until he was only half-concentrating on the actual fighting. He was getting sluggish.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Ego was slowing down. Pan felt it with every half-hearted parry and the slack he gave her when she attacked. She wished she could see his eyes; reading his next moves would have been much easier. However, she had to work with what was in front of her.

She knew that a well-placed attack would land on him; he wasn't paying enough attention. She had to strike well, though, and soon. She tried not to betray her intentions, fighting on through her thoughts, but she wasn't really paying attention to the battle itself. She was getting sluggish.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

At long last, the two fighters came to realize that neither of them was paying much mind to the battle at hand. They both withdrew quickly at the exact same moment, and began a quiet and curious study of each other. The two were waiting for the other to speak first. Interested observers outside began gathering in front of the video screen, eager to see what would happen next.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks finally broke the silence. "Look, we both know neither one of us is fighting at the height of his expertise. Why don't we cut the crap and get down to the real deal?" Pan nodded, the light from an overhead beam glinting across her phoenix-like helmet as she did so. "Let's go, then," Trunks said, and raised his sword once more, brandishing the strong metal with firm confidence. Pan reiterated previous sentiments by nodding yet again, and stood deathly still, waiting for Trunks' (well, to her, Ego's) attack. It came like lightning.

He jumped directly into her personal space, crouching low and slicing through her legs. Pan avoided the swipe, though, leaning on his shoulders and leaping over him, feet over head, landing perfectly behind him. He slashed neatly around his back then, missing, but turning easily and slicing again. Pan blocked this third cut powerfully with her own weapon, using the force his blow gave her to spin around and swing across his abdomen. She had anticipated that he would go for her head, seeing as how she had left it wide open, but he hadn't, recognizing her well-laid trap for what it was. Instead, he jumped back and kicked the blunt side of her moving blade, sending her sword flying through the air. He then pointed his own sword straight at her, ready for the kill.

Pan was not so easily defeated, though. She kept herself low, watching Trunks' weapon warily, waiting for the right moment…

It came. Trunks advanced towards her, thrusting his sword at her left shoulder. She turned, letting the blade sing past her skin, and grabbed the blade in both hands, twisting hard. She pulled back and kicked out, freeing the sword from Trunks' grasp and felling him all at once.

Trunks had no intention of letting her have the advantage. He sprung right back up and used the same trick he had before, kicking his stolen blade out of Pan's hands. The two were left weaponless.

"Well done. But don't be too sure you've won just yet. Remember, I am undefeated." Trunks gave a quick bow to accompany his little speech, and Pan went for the opening, spinning around in midair and roundhousing the side of the poor chap's head. He was hit slightly, but grabbed her foot as it came across his face, causing Pan to crash to the floor. She lay silently, her breath coming in gasps.

"As you can see, I have defeated you. A pity. I thought I would get a good fight, but I guess that's too much to ask for." Trunks was having A LOT of fun imitating his father. He almost burst out laughing. Pan did the unexpected and jolted her leg down, tumbling the unaware Saiyan. They were both recumbent now, breathing heavily and sweating like pigs.

"Then again, maybe not." Trunks said, and snickered. Pan looked at him quizzically. He was slowly developing into a hyena; he was laughing softly at first, and then he burst into all-out hysteria. His laughter echoed through the halls outside. Pan stifled a grin. She tried, oh, how she tried, but she couldn't hold back any longer. Her body was soon racked with chuckles and giggles and…whatever other words for laughter there are. She pushed herself up and held out a hand for Trunks. He took it.

They stood for a while, facing each other and laughing their hearts out. The humor died away, though, leaving an air of general happiness. Soon all that could be heard was an occasional snicker.

"That was a good fight. You have skills, I have to admit." Trunks held out a hand for Pan to shake. She obliged him.

"Thanks. You too." Trunks raised an eyebrow. This guy didn't sound like a…He sounded like a…

Pan took off her helmet slowly, letting her matted braid flop against her back. Crap. Helmet hair. She pulled the braid out hastily and ran her fingers through it, sighing as she did so. She rubbed sweat from her brow, not yet realizing that the man before her had become the personification of an ice cube.

"Well, are you going to take off your helmet? It's customary, you know." Pan grinned. She couldn't wait for his expression at having been nearly beaten by a girl.

He slid off his helmet and she gasped. "Hey! You're the idiot who shoved cake in my face!" He remained expressionless. Pan glared at him narrowly. He stared back, unperturbed. Pan cracked a smile.

"You're sorry? Oh that's okay. I forgive you. But don't do it again, right?" Trunks smiled in spite of his resolve not to. This girl was…different…from anyone he had met before.

He stood there for a while, grinning like an idiot, while Pan grinned back uncomfortably. She coughed after the situation became a little too awkward, and Trunks looked away. "What's your name, soldier?" Pan asked.

"I..uh..my name..is…uh…" He had lost all coherent thought.

"Your name is…" Pan prompted.

"Uh…Trunks! Trunks Briefs." Pan started.

"What? You? You're Trunks Briefs?" She gaped a little, and then, realizing how much the man probably got of that during the day, clamped her mouth shut and attempted to look unsurprised. "I mean…of course. You're Trunks Briefs. Everyone knows that, right? Right. I'm not surprised." Trunks looked at her strangely and she coughed again.

"Um. Yeah."

"Yeah."

"………"

"Yup."

Pan smiled foolishly. This Trunks guy was cute. Why had Bra warned her to stay away from him? His hair looked so soft and his eyes…Pan mentally kicked herself and broke away from her happy reverie. "Well, I gotta go now. Great fighting with you. See you in the tournament." She made a motion to go but Trunks blocked her exit.

"Wait. I…I mean…would you…uh…like to…um…go have some hot chocolate?" Pan laughed out loud. That was what his sister had asked her at their first meeting. She agreed wholeheartedly, pushing Bra's warning to the back of her head. This guy didn't look so dangerous. He **was** nice. Why had Bra said that he wasn't? Strange.

Trunks smiled in gratitude and motioned for her to lead the way out of the room.

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And now, on to chapter 8! Review, it's so easy!


	8. The Offense

Okay. Here we are. Or rather, here I am. Ready to uh, edit. Sigh. Read and enjoy.

Chapter 8

The atmosphere in the small café was cozy and quiet. The only patrons present besides Trunks and Pan were a spindly glasses-wearing kid with his head in a book and an old janitorial worker staring into his coffee as if it held the meaning of life.

Pan rested her arms lightly on the smooth tabletop before her, inhaling deeply to fully experience her surroundings. She let her breath out in a happy whoosh. "It's great here. Nice and quiet, and homey-ish. If that makes any sense."

"No, I agree entirely. My house had this feel to it. That's why I always come here. It's a comforting reminder." Trunks, opposite Pan at the tiny booth, leaned his head back, resting it in his arms. He smiled and gazed around, taking in the various old photos of country scenes and groups of smiling people. The overhead lights were shaded, allowing the two student's eyes to rest a little bit.

Pan and Trunks simply sat there for a while, waiting for the waitress in content silence, basking in each other's presence. Pan, for all her exterior calm, was asking herself multiple questions about why Trunks seemed so nice to her when his sister had so ardently warned her to be wary of him. Trunks was thinking, too. He was thinking about how much he wanted to get to know this intriguing girl. He hadn't given her credit in the mess hall; her eyes were so deep and endless, he could drown in them and be happy doing so.

The waiter arrived, breaking the two from their respective thought patterns.

"What would you like?" the nice-looking woman queried, her mouth turning up at the sight of such a sweet couple.

"Uh…we would both like some hot chocolate, I think." Trunks looked at Pan for verification. She nodded, grinning.

"Sure thing. Is that it?" They nodded in unison. "Alrighty. Two hot chocolates comin' right up."

Silence again took reign, but Pan had forfeited her tumultuous thinking to better observe her companion. She did so discreetly, not desiring to invoke his discomfort. She leaned her chin on her forearm and kept glancing in his direction. If Trunks showed signs of looking at her, she'd quickly move her eyes to a picture behind him. The system worked rather well. She liked what she saw.

Trunks was doing the same thing, more or less, until he caught sight of something far less pleasing to the eye. Keebler and Company. They strutted into the domicile, carrying the same disdain with them as always, and looking around for something. For him. He almost groaned in frustration. Was he ever safe from them?

Nabisco spotted him and alerted Keebler. They stalked over to Trunks.

"Hey, buddy. How you doing? Can we speak to ya fer a sec?" Keebler pulled Trunks up sharply and dragged him away from Pan. She simply raised an eyebrow. Keebler began speaking fiercely, keeping his voice low and menacing, gripping the lapel of Trunks' uniform.

"Why'd you run away from us, Trunks? We were all gonna have a great spar, and you left us in the middle of the hallway. You see, we's not used to being dropped like a sack of oats. You'd better find a way to explain yerself, er you'll be the one being dropped. Then yer dad won't be very happy, will he? Cuz we have stuff we can tell him about you. Lots of stuff. Stuff that could mean a suspension."

"I've never done anything that could breed any hint of a reason for a suspension, and you know it, Keebler," Trunks growled. He could be menacing, too.

"Maybe not, but who do you think your dad'll believe? Us, wealthy high-class guys with connections, or you?" Trunks laughed bitterly. He was Vegeta's own son, and yet the accusation was too true. Vegeta trusted these morons more than him. Their threat was very real. Trunks wondered how long it had taken them to come up with such a scheme.

"You look a little beat. Perhaps you changed yer ways. But we have to see yer loyalty in action. If you prove yerself, den maybe we'll reconsider tellin' yer dad."

"What exactly are you suggesting I do to prove myself?" Keebler grinned evilly.

"Well, everyone knows you shouldn't be associating with an Argonaut. All you have to do is turn her off, you know, put her down and such, and you're safe. Got it?" Trunks narrowed his eyes. He liked Pan. He didn't want to hurt her. But he had to.

Trunks nodded grudgingly and slowly walked back towards the booth. Keebler etc. sat down at a nearby table to observe the impending entertainment. Trunks stopped next to the booth, looking down at Pan. &Be Vegeta! Be Vegeta!&

"Pan, I just wanted to say that I don't want to see you anymore." Pan smirked.

"Why not?" She crossed her arms and waited, not realizing Trunks' intent.

"I have finally noticed your character flaws. My friends have informed me that…"

"What, I'm really a gorgeous model in disguise?" She grinned.

"No." Trunks almost laughed, but stopped himself and put on his best Vegeta frown. "You are an Argonaut."

"And that effects things because…"

"Because you're an Argonaut! You and I don't mix! Can't you see?"

"I see nothing. Why does it make any difference to you that I spent some time on the Argo?" She stood up, finally heated at his accusations.

"Because it does! Just accept it!" He looked at her angrily, all the while yelling inside that he was sorry. So sorry.

"Is there anything besides the fact that I am an 'Argonaut,'" she said, spitting the word out with contempt, "that makes you believe I am not worth your time?" She folded her arms and waited. He started.

"No." He sneered. "There need not be."

"Well then, I don't accept your explanation."

"Excuse me?" Trunks' eyes widened slightly.

"I don't accept it. You obviously have some other reason to suddenly turn me away, and I don't think it has anything to do with my origins or what ships I've been on. So until you give me a logical reason, I will continue being your friend, and there's nothing you can do about it. Goodnight, I had a wonderful time, and I'll see you tomorrow at lunch." She nodded, satisfied that she had said all that she needed to say, and swept away, leaving a very flustered and surprised (but inwardly bemused) Trunks behind. She eyed Keebler and company suspiciously, and when they turned their disdainful glances towards her, she snorted out loud, smiling inwardly when their faces flickered into outrage.

As the door closed behind her, Nabisco spoke up. "How dare she! She shall feel the wrath of the elite class students in full for her direct misconduct!" At least, that's what he would have said had he actually had some semblance of a cognitive brain. What he really said was: "Hey!" and he turned to Keebler for advice.

Truly, Keebler had been increasing his mental output ever since he had gone to school, and now he was the equal of a Walligford Terrier on a bad day. He knew exactly what to do to get his revenge on both Trunks and Pan at the same time.

"Trunks, you know the Argonaut the best out of all of us, right?" Trunks nodded, still dumbfounded at Pan's reaction. "What is her greatest ambition right now? What does she spend all her time doing? What is her dream?" Trunks glared at him, hate filling his intense eyes. Not this. Anything but this.

"Not gonna answer? That's alright. I know anyway. And what's the best way to stop someone from achieving this goal? I have an inkling you know, Trunks. And by tomorrow, you will carry out the plan that I am formulating right now, or you can kiss your future career goodbye."

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks entered the mess hall with a heavy heart, hoping beyond hope that Pan wouldn't be there. He trudged through the masses, hearing conversations around him, but not really listening.

"Hey, Trunks! Have you finally found out why you hate me?" He turned to see Pan's smiling face before him. "Bring it on, then. I'm prepared. What's my major character flaw?"

Trunks sighed inwardly. He hated this. He had to do it, though. He brought his hand back and sent it flying towards her face. She caught it easily; he hadn't tried very hard. He felt the gang's eyes on his back and reeled his other hand back for a punch. A real one. She glared at him. "What exactly is this a—" The punch connected directly with her lower jaw, sending her reeling backwards. She drove her foot back, halting her fall, and stood straight, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.

"You're really serious, aren't you? Trunks?" He said nothing, but mechanically launched himself at her, catching her in the middle and sending her down hard. She stood, finally believing the lie. "I guess I should have listened to your sister. Are you so prejudiced that you would physically harm me just because I was on some dumb ship?" She was stricken. Trunks screamed inside. The authorities were surely coming now. Everyone was watching them. Just as the mess hall doors slid open, the final stage of the plan was carried out. Trunks made a final advance in such a way that Pan was forced to retaliate or suffer a shocking blow. She did so, using all her anger at his stupidity and pride to send an uppercut into his chin.

"Just what do you think you're doing, young woman?" Pan turned from her companion, her clouded vision clearing, to see one of the law enforcement authorities bearing down on her, his arms crossed and his face parental.

She straightened, surprised, dreading what was imminent. Yet she had done nothing wrong, had she?

"Come with me, please. You too, Trunks." He nodded and the two walked out, followed by the officer. Trunks looked over at Pan. He could see she was slowly realizing what was about to happen to her. Her eyes were wide in fear, and then they narrowed suddenly. She turned to Trunks.

"You did this. You planned it all out didn't you? You knew that they would suspend me! You knew that I would be stopped from participation in the tournament! Why?" Her voice wavered. She clenched her fists. Trunks simply waited and said nothing. He was powerless.

"I wish I could've seen it sooner. I'm such a fool! Why would an elite member ever show me true friendship?" She ended her barrage with a twist of her mouth. She did not look at him again as they walked to the brig office.

Once there, Pan was ushered into a small room furnished simply with a desk and two chairs opposite each other. Pan sat down in one, and the door was closed behind her. She lay her head on her arms. &I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry!&

Trunks was taken to a comfortable area and was seated in a plush chair.

"I don't think you have to worry, Trunks. By the accounts of the witnesses who spoke up, she attacked you. It wasn't your fault. You'll be out within the hour." What could Trunks do?

&&&&&&&&&

"Miss Son, do you realize that physically attacking a fellow student with the intent of harm is considered a serious offense at the Academy?" The beady-eyed shrewish lawyer paused his act of sifting through important papers to look at her inquisitively. His glasses reflected the overhead light and glared into Pan's eyes. She squinted and grimaced. This was getting more and more like an interrogation of the enemy.

"I have heard it said so before, sir." The lawyer ejaculated a quick 'ahuh' and wrote something on one of the papers. She strained to see it, but the lawyer pulled the papers away grumpily.

"So you should have. And are you aware of the consequences called for by Academy protocol?" He yawned loudly, covering his wide mouth lightly. Pan yawned, too. Hey, yawns are contagious.

"I am. Suspension until further notice. But it wasn't entirely my fault! If you'd just listen…"

"I am not here to listen to your complaints. They may be made at the end of the week to the superintendent here."

"But the tournament will be over by then! This isn't fair and you know it!"

"I suggest you calm yourself, Miss Son, or you will find yourself charged with verbally abusing a superior officer. Thank you for your cooperation. You are hereby confined to your quarters. The security officer will accompany you." Pan shut her mouth tightly and did as the stupid man instructed. She had been working towards the tournament for months! She was qualified! She could beat most of the guys out there! Trunks was gonna die for this!

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks sat in his room, head in hands. He had ruined her dream. &But there must be something I can do! Keebler is a moron! He isn't perceptive. I should be able to run one by him without him noticing. I have to do something! But what?&

into his head.

"Bra, you have to help me!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the kitchen before she could let out a yelp. Pan would not be suspended for much longer if Trunks had anything to do with it.

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Gasp. So terrible. You'd better review and make everything okay. Behehe my powers of persuasion amaze even me…on to ch9!


	9. The Judgement

And here we are at the lovely chapter 9. So beautiful. Alright, I'm cracking ma knuckles and getting down to de business.

Chapter 9

Pan sat in her quarters, dangling her feet from the end of her couch and slouching lazily. Her blank eyes stared across the living room at nothing. She groaned quietly and, top heavy, let her head drag her forward and off the couch. She fell onto the floor with a thump. Silence encumbered the room, invaded soon by a dilatory exclamation:

"Ow." Pan thought of rubbing her aching head, but was too dejected to bother. She lay there, her feet caught beneath the couch and tangled strangely, her arms trapped beneath her, her face distorted as her cheek was flattened in the ground. She closed her eyes.

"Why did this have to happen?" A small drop of water tickled her nose as it slowly made its way from the corner of her eye to the left side of her lip, where it hung, suspended, despite her feeble attempts to shake it off. She was bereft of feeling now, numb to the outside world, her mind orbiting around a single thought: she wasn't in the tournament anymore. She had thrown all her energy into it from the moment she heard of it, but it didn't matter. She felt like punching something, but instead gave in to her body's needs and fell asleep.

She awoke to an incessant beeping sound. "Wha? What's happening?" She panicked and pushed herself up quickly, instantly regretting it as her head connected with the tabletop above her. "OW!" she fell down again, hitting her cheek on the padded but firm ground. She winced. Taking a deep breath to stop herself from screaming both in pain and in frustration that the stupid beeping hadn't stopped, she rose carefully and looked around.

"Stupid doorbell." Rubbing the back of her head, she stumbled over to her door, uncaring of what she looked like. She smacked at the button that manually opened the door and waited as it swished to reveal…

"Bra?"

XXXXXXXXXXPREVIOUSLYXXXXXXXXXXX

"I can't believe Trunks is actually being the good guy here. Although conforming to those slimy egotistical fools at first wasn't really great…" Bra shook her head, sending her silky aqua tresses over her shoulder. After going over 'the plan' with Trunks, she had to admit it had its high points. She was sure she could have come up with a better one, given time. But time was one thing she didn't have.

She straightened her tight silver dress and checked the pocket of the leather jacket she wore over it. The sound-recording device was intact and ready to go. She adjusted the microphone, which was hidden in an ugly rhinestone ring on her right pinky. She would never wear such a gruesome piece under normal circumstances.

She had to remember to keep the microphone as close to Keebler as possible, Trunks had said. How could she do so without being conspicuous? She put the question out of her mind. She was smart; she'd come up with something. She thrived on spontaneity.

Bra arrived at her destination, looking up at the "Disco Barn" sign and shaking her head. How crude could you get? She had seen clubs in the Australian outback that were better than this (this is of course assuming that Bra has been to Australia. Work with me here). Smoothing her hair back expediently, she put her high heeled foot forward and entered the establishment.

Keebler et cetera were communing in what Trunks had said was their 'usual spot,' a booth far from any windows and crammed into a corner. She raised an eyebrow and waited. A few other people glanced in her direction uncertainly, but stopped their perusal when she glared at them. The slimy group of males continued to ignore her. --I guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way.-- She smirked and walked sinuously up to a greasy kid who, according to Trunks description, was Keebler. --Just the guy I was looking for.--

Keebler was talking softly, obviously imparting the bulk of a crude joke he had enjoyed immensely, when he noticed that his buddies weren't responding. They were staring, awe-struck, at something behind him.

"What is it, guys? What are you looking at?" He laughed nervously, gulped, and turned around to come face to face with a pair of legs. Silvery fabric slid along the length of them, cut off at the ankles. Keebler raised his head slowly, mouth agape, to take in curves upon curves upon curves, finally stopping on a beautiful face framed by blue waves. He gasped. She was gorgeous.

Bra rolled her eyes at his infatuation and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him up beside her. "Hey kid," she said in a low tone, "wanna dance?" She put on her best 'come hither' look and strutted onto the floor. He followed. They always did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Trunks sat in his room, looking at a crude intercom he had replicated and listening intently as his plan unwound. He smiled, preemptively relishing the look on Keebler's face when he found out he had been tricked. He laughed softly and bent closer. Voices came over the channel, slightly garbled, but recognizable. A slow jazz mix was droning in the background. He flipped a few switches to block the music out.

((So why have I never seen you here before?))

((I'm just visiting. I'm not in the Academy. I've been told that women just…don't have the right talents for such a venture.)) Bra gave a vulnerable sigh. Perfect! She should have been an actress.

((My thoughts exactly. Women are weak-minded. They're made to defer to men.))

((Oh, definitely. Men are so much stronger and much more experienced with complex things.))

"Come on, Bra, get to the point," Trunks hissed.

((Ahem. Have you ever done anything…wild?)) Keebler laughed.

((Me? Why of course. I'm a wild thing.)) Trunks rolled his eyes. He probably slept with a teddy bear at night!

((Well, what wild things have you done?))

((What will you give me if I tell you?))

((Oh, Keebler, I'll give you exactly what you deserve, you manly man, you.)) The unctuous boy chuckled darkly and Trunks felt his face flush with anger. That was his sister he was talking to!

((Alright. Let's go someplace more…isolated.)) Suddenly all conversation was muted beyond comprehension. The idiot was holding her hand! XLet go! Let go!X Trunks pleaded. He sat back, staring at the intercom apprehensively, and clasped his hands tightly together.

A long time passed, interrupted by a few mumbling sounds, when they were suddenly reconnected. XWhat does that baka have in his hand, a metal plate?X After listening a while, Trunks deduced that Keebler hadn't said it yet. He breathed a sigh of relief.

((That was a pretty wild thing to do, Keebler. But haven't you done anything really WILD wild?)) Bra was exasperated. It seemed Keebler had related to her a myriad irrelevant stories the entire time the channel was out. Trunks almost felt sorry for her.

((WILD wild? Um…I dunno…))

((I mean, have you ever…broken the law?)) She said the latter three words in a low tone, tempting Keebler as much as she could. Trunks crossed his fingers, hoping he would take the bait.

((I did do something just this past week that was kinda illegal. Well, not illegal per se, but wild!))

((Tell me the whole story.))

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Tell me the whole story." Bra slid closer to Keebler, suppressing her revulsion and placing her hand on his shoulder. --I hope this works.--

"Well, it all started when our scapegoat began thinkin' fer himself. We hadda put him in his place, y'know? So we thought, what better way than an initiation? He'd been showing interest fer this new girl, an Argonaut, and so we decided to get him to publicly humiliate 'er to assure his loyalty. But he messed up, and the Argonaut made us kinda angry, y'know? Natcherly, we hadda get back at 'er. So we did the greatest thing." He bared his teeth in what he obviously assumed was a smile. "We framed her. It was perfect; we had our boy get into a fight wit 'er, and the authorities suspended 'er from the games! Ain't it great? She was workin' so hard. No more tournament fer her!" He laughed then, a cutting, shrill giggle, and Bra stood.

"You've said enough, sweetpea. And don't worry, you'll get a job at a concession stand er something. Tataa!" She trotted off, leaving an uncomprehending Keebler behind.

"Hate to see ya leave, love to watch you go," the fool said, and snickered as if he had made the funniest joke on the planet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXBack to NOWXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey, chica! Guess what? You're not confined to your quarters anymore. The case has been reviewed and they've found you're not entirely at fault! The superintendent sent me to summon you. Come on, you'll be late! Tons of people are gathered for the meeting! You'll be able to fight after all!" She grabbed Pan's arm and dragged her off. Bra would never change. Pan smiled weakly.

As the two friends approached the Academy's administration building, Pan noticed a relatively large gathering of people standing in front of the entrance. They were chanting something, and as Pan walked closer, the words became defined.

"Let Pan play! Let Pan play!" they shouted at the top of their lungs. Pan stared at the protest group, dumbstruck. She didn't even know these people.

"Word got around about your predicament," Bra said softly. "As you can see, almost everyone is sympathizing with you." Bra led her forward, entering the space the crowd was domineering. They split instantly, allowing passage, all the while giving cheers of encouragement to Pan. Her face was split in a grin of elation (she almost did the 'you love me! You really love me!' speech then and there, but decided against it at the last moment).

Bra opened the door for her and ushered her in. The cries of fortification were muted, and finally were ceased to Pan's ears, leaving behind them the same emptiness she had felt before. She hadn't the nerve to walk up to the superintendent alone. What could she do to sway his judgment should he see her unfit to play, and hang the idea that it wasn't her fault? She grimaced at the self-deprecating turn her thoughts were taking and focused instead on Bra's constant chatter. Pan had missed the pleasant buzz Bra's voice instilled in her head when she talked.

After some time of walking through endless, unchanging corridors, they came upon the door to the main courtroom (they knew this because underneath it, in big bold letters, it said 'MAIN COURTROOM'). Upon entrance, Pan heard a whiny, protesting voice railing on about something. She raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and listened, watching the kid's back as he stood before the superintendent.

"It was all fun and games, sir. Yous done that before, huh, sir? I mean, we didn't want to hurt 'er er anything like that. I mean, really, sir, have you no faith in me?" The overbearing and darkly wise man who occupied the judge's seat looked down at the kid suspiciously. When he spoke, his voice was deep and held the confidence that only time could give a man. This was the Academy superintendent.

"Not really, Keebler. You have stated your defense, please sit." Keebler bowed and scraped, backing up slowly and knocking his chair over.

"Sorry, sir. Sorry. Forgive my clumsiness, your highn…er, sir." The worm finally sat, and the bailiff whispered something in the superintendent's ear. He looked up at Pan and nodded. The bailiff stood off to one side and spoke.

"The court of the Chikyu-Saiyan Space Fleet Academy, honor of the people, servant of the great Vegeta, and the flame of knowledge, calls Pan Son, daughter to Gohan and Videl Son, Lieutenants on the pride of CSSF, the Argo, to the stand." He read off the long list in a monotone, finishing by gasping air into his mouth loudly and sitting importantly in his little chair. Pan squelched the butterflies that were attacking her innards with machine guns and machetes and stepped forward along the aisle, her face straight. She ignored the spectators and arrived at the bench with quiet dignity.

"Pan Son, accusations were made against you concerning a phyisical attack in the mess hall. Witnesses disagreed as to what actually happened. Some said that you attacked Trunks Briefs with the unlawful intention of harming him. Others stated that you attacked him only to defend yourself. Following intensive investigation, we have learned that one set of witnesses were lying in order to reduce your honor and frame you. An anonymous person sent in an audio tape that he requested we listen to." Pan frowned. Anonymous person?

"To summarize, the contents of the tape involved Keebler here stating his guilt, Trunks' innocence, your innocence, and his own incompetence." Pan was relieved, but sensed that the superintendent wasn't telling her everything. She waited.

"Pan Son, it has been asserted by the authorities that although you were framed and forced to fight, you participated in an act that is illegal and requires some form of punishment. They argue that letting you off, which, by the way, is what I believe to be the right thing to do, would give other offenders the impression that they could also brawl and not be punished. Therefore I have devised a reprimand that will be sufficient to your situation. You will be allowed only one fight in the tournament. That fight will be against a person of your choosing, and when he or she is at their highest level. Therefore, if you choose the person who defeats all others, and defeat him, you will be named the champion. However, you must choose this person before you know if he or she wins. You must choose now." He looked at her expectantly. This was her chance. She could still prove herself to everyone.

"I thank you, sir, for your wealth of understanding in judgment. The person I choose to fight in the tournament is," she paused for dramatic effect, "Trunks Briefs." The superintendent nodded and stood.

"This court is now adjourned." The crowd erupted in chatter. Keebler stood before his parents with a pout, complaining in loud tones. Bra hugged and congratulated her. And Trunks—the one who had forced her through this ordeal---was sitting quietly, staring at her. She was going to fight him and make him pay for what he'd done. Why was he not given the same reprimand she was forced to have? He was not innocent, of that she was sure. She would punish him dearly. He would not find himself removed from guilt so easily.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Trunks watched Pan leave sadly. He had done all he could for her, and yet it wasn't enough. Vegeta had forced the superintendent to allow Trunks back into the tournament. He didn't like it, though. He was more at fault than Pan. He had attacked! He groaned and rubbed his head. This was getting too complicated. He knew what he had to do, though. He had to win. Only then would she have a shot at the championship. It was all for her, now.

All for Pan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alright, people, you know the drill. Oh, look, what is that convenient little box down there? What does it say? Review!


	10. The Tournament Begins

Alright. Two more edits after this one. Gah, why did I decide to do this? Oh, well. Enjoy.

Chapter 10

The tournament at the Academy was exulted and loved by all who heard of it. It was a showcase of the newest and best talents the younger generations had to offer. It was a display of the combat techniques and hostilities humans and saiyans had grown beyond, but had long ago embraced. It was a reminiscing festival, a look back at earlier times, reminding modern man exactly why those days had been suppressed. Wars involving man-to-man combat no longer existed, and the tournament, for all its safety protocols, showed spectators why.

It was exciting and dramatic, including only the top fighters in the Academy battling one on one to achieve victory and jubilation. Many fighters played for the crowd, using fanciful and exaggerated moves that always brought with them applause and laughter. Others played with menacing grace, fighting to win at all costs and taking whatever chances they got.

A select few played not for appreciation nor even for the prize. They played, rather, for themselves, to prove themselves worthy in battle. Trunks would have been one of these, had events not turned his attentions from himself towards a young woman who hated him.

Trunks was supported by her, although she had no realization of it. His belief was that if he defeated all his opponents, she would have to chance to fight him and win the crowd. He knew that this was her greatest desire. He knew he had almost ruined her chances. So he prepared himself for victory, ready to block out the crowd and his own desires, ready to fight for Pan.

Events in the tournament were split into four sections, each implementing a different weapon. The first, and easiest, was hand to hand combat. Trunks knew he was good in this area, and he also knew he would be paired up with someone who hadn't nearly as much skill as he. Each section had two rounds; if he won both, then he would have two wins up his sleeve, and vice versa. If he won one and lost one, then he would have a good thing and a bad thing all in one. It was double elimination. One more loss would kill him.

Thankfully, the tournament hadn't even started yet, and people were already dropping out. Sickness and nervousness were taking their toll on the weaker fighters. Trunks just hoped his opponent wouldn't chicken out. It would be better if he didn't have to fight someone with more skill early on.

The second section involved the use of the quarterstaff. Trunks knew this weapon rather well, and looked forward to the beating he was sure to give whomever he fought. The third round, as a break from the norm, was an archery contest. All participants were split into groups of four. Winners went up and up through the three levels, until finally one person came out on top. Most people, then, got one loss tacked onto their score. The winner received three wins. Trunks didn't know how good his opponents were, but he knew he could shoot well.

The fourth and final round was everyone's favorite; the broadsword competition. Trunks had spent the last few days preparing mostly for that. He just hoped he could get there to fight. Two losses and he was done for.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Pan sat next to a silent (oooh, scary) Bra in the slightly cushioned seat in the stadium. All around her, loyal aficionados yelled and waved their hats, waiting for the opening ceremony. Noone had yet realized that she was the famed 'consolation' fighter they had all come to see. Pan squinted in the sunlight, searching the proud group of fighters that were lined up before the main podium. She spotted Trunks near the end of the line, standing straight and tall in the black and silver uniform he wore every year. All who had heard of his previous battles in last years' tournament looked at him, all expecting him to win the entire thing hands down. She would show them. She'd show them all.

Of course even if she did beat the winner, she wouldn't be proclaimed the champ, nor would she have any right to be. She was banned from the whole process leading up to her battle. Her fighting was to appease those moneyed people that might have sympathized with her had she gone public. But she would have the crowd's approbation, and that was all she needed. That and beating Trunks into a bloody pulp.

Some of the fighters held intricate helmets loosely beneath their arms. Trunks had the same spherical sun-reflecting headpiece he had borne while Pan had sparred with him, what seemed like ages ago. He looked ready to kill. She shivered involuntarily. Could she really beat this guy?

Of course she could. She had an undepletable supply of animosity to draw on. Every time she looked at him, she felt energy rise within her. Oh, yeah. She could take him.

She looked longingly at the undisturbed sand in the ground where the fighting would begin. It was marked with ten circles the size of large rooms, all no less than twenty feet apart and all easily in sight of the crowd. The central circle, though the same size as all the others, was more pronounced and important-looking, decorated in the center by the CSSF symbol. This ring would not be used until the final round. Pan was itching to jump in and fight. She had the right to! She sighed and sat back, controlling her raging emotions and biting fiercely into a juicy hot dog that Bra proffered.

"Good hot dog."

"Yup."

"Can't wait for the tournament."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Yeah." Pan looked at Bra strangely. Why wasn't she talking at all? This was turning into an episode of the Twilight Zone (no comment). Then Pan noticed where Bra's eyes were trained. She was staring, drooling, at the line of gladiators. Pan laughed and punched Bra lightly in the arm.

"Hey! What was that for?" Bra saw Pan laughing, tears running down her face, and grinned. "Oh," she mumbled, sheepish. "I guess I'm not being very inconspicuous." Pan kept laughing. It kept her mind off her annoyances for a while…

&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks stood between his good friend, Goten, and his first round opponent, a spindly yet hard-looking man with a crimson uniform and knee-high boots. His helm was a dark metal the color of dried blood, with tooled knifelike pieces that, borne, would creep across his chin like slithering vipers. A sharp spike at the forehead made the wearer reminiscent of a maroon rhinoceros. Trunks raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

His own practical suit, while rather flashy in its own right, was a lot tougher than the average armor, having been forged in the great firestone at Beedom's Ridge, one of the most experienced, indeed, perhaps the best metallurgy factories on Chikyu. It had belonged to his father, who had received it as a gift from Beedom's late leaders. The metal used was not average either; it was potha, a malleable yet almost completely impenetrable material that was light as wood but stronger than lodestone.

He had to admit though, his silver helmet was completely for show. Trunks was usually focused, like most others, on pleasing the crowd at least a little bit. This was no longer true-- but he kept the helmet.

"You ready for me to kick your butt, buddy?" Goten nudged him and grinned. Trunks shook his head. Only Goten would find humor in this deadlock competition.

"Try not to kick it too hard, okay?"

"Your call." Goten turned to the crowd and cocked his head. "There are so many more people here this time. I wonder why?"

"They all heard about the 'court order,' I bet."

"Yeah. You gonna let her win?"

"Of course not. But she's going to."

Goten snorted. "Right, pal. Right."

The superintendent stepped up to the prominent podium, a look of distracted content on his brow. He raised his hands mightily, signaling for the teeming crowd to quiet down.

"We are gathered here today in this stadium…" he began in a loud, overpowering voice, "to celebrate the great battle techniques that our races have used for centuries. This tournament, though, is held in an age where killing is considered ancient and prehistoric. Thus you will not fight to the death. The battles are to be considered by judges, who will rate the performance of each fighter according to strategy, knowledge, and success of attacks. The man or woman with the higher score is, of course the winner. We will now begin the first round. Gladiators, please proceed to your designated ring." The crowd roared their approval and the fighters swaggered outward from the center of the stadium.

"Take your positions!" Weighted capes flew every which way, stretches were completed, and a few extra taunts were put forward. Trunks slid his helmet on and clanged against it with an armored fist, securing it. The rhino he was fighting spit outside the ring, wiped his grisly maw, and took up a rather proletarian stance, not blocking the side of his face as was sensible, but sticking his balled hands ahead of him in a reckless display of testosterone at its dimmest. A swift block and blow to his weak spot would finish him easily.

"Two minutes on the clock. Round one…begin!" Sounds of battle abruptly filled the arena. Trunks habitually put up a mental barricade against the innumerable crashes of skirmish and struggle, muting them to a hum inside his sensitive ears. He shifted his weight to back foot and began to slowly circle his opponent, as a hawk would circle his prey. It was an effective way to disorient and frighten a rival.

Rhino skittered backwards and moved quickly to the side, apparently attempting the same, but not succeeding by any definition of the word. Trunks waited patiently, watching for the best opening he could find (which was not the most difficult thing he had ever done) and attacked, swiping away Rhino's counterattack as if batting a fly away. He sent the hard ridges of his knuckles right towards the poor sap's lower jaw, and, with a sickening thud, they made contact. The bloke was sent flying, landing at least three feet outside the ring boundary. Trunks was the automatic winner of the first half.

The crowd roared, adrenaline was pumping, and water was being thrown at Rhino to wake him up. Trunks grinned. He could do this.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Pan felt a rush of happiness as Trunks finished off his second half with a bang. She mentally kicked herself. Why was she so happy this idiot was winning?

So she could beat him when he won! Of course! That's why. Of course. Really. She gave up trying to convince herself of her hate for Trunks and stuffed another hot dog in her mouth. Hey, drown your sorrows in chocolate, drown your emotional discrepancies in hot dogs…

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The hooded figure stood noiselessly in the ordinary doorway, observing the events clad in an unremarkable coat and pale green slacks. His student insignia was hidden within his many pockets, and his gloved fingers were wrapped around a strange glassy vial of thin, clear liquid. He smiled slowly, forgoing the chuckling for purposes of inconspicuousness. Tugging his cap low over his gleeful eyes, he wandered off in the direction of the waterboy's personal venue.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Ah. Didn't really edit that one much. Got bored. Meh. Anyway, please review? Please?


	11. Sabotage!

Almost…there…cough cough hack…

Chapter 11

Trunks' quarterstaff was a blur of motion as he spun it around behind his back, bringing the blunt end up into his opponent's gut. The blue garments she wore shuddered with the jolt, and she collapsed to her knees, hunching around the pain. She wasn't giving up, though. Just when any other man would have let down his guard, she swung her staff around to where Trunk's legs were positioned, attempting to sweep him off his feet. He was ready for her, and leaped as if jumping rope. As he landed, he knocked her staff away with a swift clang and brought his weapon to rest directly in front of the girl's sweaty face. She gasped lightly.

She certainly wasn't made to fight. Her delicate frame spoke of many years of pampering, and although she was fast ad agile with her staff, she was beat before she had begun to fight. Trunks waited, his bludgeon poised for the final strike, as the last few seconds of the round ebbed away. The loud whistle sounded and cheers erupted from the crowd, as was the usual occurrence.

"Fine techniques, Aurora, but perhaps you'd be better off sticking with politics." To his surprise, Aurora grinned, winked, and shook his hand before swaying sinuously out of the ring. Trunks blinked twice, grimaced, and scratched his head. Women. You can't live with 'em…

"Hey, Goten! How have your efforts proved?" Goten, who had been squirming under the ministrations of a white-clad nurse, took this opportunity to escape. His left eye was black and his arm was bandaged tightly.

"Not too bad, my friend. And yours?"

"Haven't lost yet."

"Well, prepare to, Trunks my man, because I am gonna whoop your butt in the archery competition." Trunks chuckled and slapped him on the back, the way men do…

"Hey, you look kinda tuckered out. That chick have some fire in her after all?" Goten smiled, but a worried glint was visible in his eyes.

"No, I'm fine. I think I'm a little dehydrated, that's all."

"By all means, drink some water!" Goten shoved him towards the canteen and Trunks dutifully grabbed a cup that was offered almost forcefully to him by a shy-looking attendant. Ignoring her piercing gaze, he slurped it down hungrily. He wiped the sweat off his brow and looked at the empty cup, amazed. The water was wonderful! It hit all the right spots with a sweet, tangy taste and a cool temperature that Trunks had as of yet never experienced.

Refreshed, Trunks headed towards the outer ring that was holding his archery section. All the outer circles now had colorful targets resting at one end. They, of course, were at the point farthest from the audience, and the archers shot from the outside of the stadium in, so as to not kill one of the spectators inadvertently. Picking up a bow from the rack at the wall, he drew the string back and tested it.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The hooded man donned his inconspicuous clothing once more, rising from the rubbish bin which now held a second hand nurse's outfit. He had not enjoyed the cross-dressing experience, but the deed was done and he was the happier for it. He almost believed he could go through such an ordeal again.

Pulling his dark cowl close around his face, he slowly slinked away into the shadows, chuckling softly as he went.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Pan watched with unfeigned interest as the participants prepared their archery equipment. She had sneaked away from Bra, not wanting her to realize how much she wanted to watch Trunks perform, and was now standing just inside one of the four major arena doorways. The view was perfect, and as her eyes trailed along the ranks of archers, she recognized at once the ability of each man and woman. Trunks had a very good chance in this round.

One woman, wearing a tight grey jacket and baggy pants caught in at the ankles, was attempting a knowledgeable air whilst twanging away at her bow as if it were a banjo. A darkly handsome fellow with a cleft in his chin was fiddling with an arrow shaft as if he had never seen one before.

And then, Pan saw him. The real challenge for Trunks. He was a student she had never seen before, with an unremarkable face and a slight build. His thin hair was pushed down with a simple steel helm. If not for his armor, Pan would have had no indication of the threat he posed. But she gazed at the armor with battle trained eyes and saw a man who knew what he was doing. He carried it, simple as it was, with a grace that made you believe it was the fanciest armor in the world.

Pan wondered if Trunks really knew what he was up against. This boy had something about him that didn't inspire the need for a second glance. Could Trunks really beat him?

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Bra lost Pan's black hair in a sea of chaos and action. She had had luck following her this far, but could press on no further. Besides, she was hungry.

Turning around and looking for a concession stand, she almost gave up due to the push and shove of the crowd around her. Suddenly she spotted a small shack that had a food-oriented look about it. She threw herself through the crowd, shoved people every which way, ignored their rude comments, and found herself face to face with a 'closed for break' sign. She sighed.

"Just my luck. Oh, well. I guess I'll just go sit down and starve." She was about to turn when she heard a small whispering shuffle coming from behind the shanty. Her curiosity getting the best of her, she silently padded around the side of the building and peered around the corner.

There was nothing there but an alleyway, but she proceeded nonetheless, pushing her better judgement off a cliff and hanging on to her instinct. Instantly a flicker of movement appeared directly before her. It was one of the tournament nurses. She was opening the lid of a large trash bin and peering inside. Bra almost sighed with relief and ran towards the nurse, but something inside her stopped her short. Instead, she hid in an alcove nearby and watched the nurse unnoticed.

The medical assistant then did something very strange. She began to strip her uniform off quickly, almost disgustedly, throwing the outer coat to the ground and spitting on it. As it continued gracing each clothing article with just such a ritual, Bra tore her eyes away in embarrassment. The nurse was a man! Thankfully he was far away, and some details were left out in the haze of distance. But still, it was not a sight she enjoyed seeing…

After counting to fifty, Bra slowly peeked around the corner again. The strange man was dressed again, but now he was wearing a long brown jacket and a low-brimmed hat. He was stealthily closing the lid of the trash bin. He lifted his head, peering around him to see if anyone was watching. Bra hunched down, attempting invisibility.

Following an eternal few seconds, the man slinked away, and Bra let out the huge breath of carbon dioxide that had been burning incessantly in her lungs. Waiting another fifty seconds and then some, Bra wiped the sweat from her brow and slowly approached the foul-smelling container, noticing at once that the strange man's footprints were clearly outlined on the soft, muck-covered ground.

"Clearly not a professional, whatever he's doing." For she knew that such suspicious actions could never be written off as anything but illegal. Shaking off her revulsion at touching such a stench-swamped receptacle, Bra gripped the green lid tightly in her hands and pushed it, slowly but surely, up and out of the way. It made a loud clang as it hit the brick wall behind it. Bra cringed, checked around for any motion, and lifted herself up over the top of the trash bin just enough so she could see inside.

The floor of the bin was covered with the usual items; banana peels, cardboard boxes, old capsulized refrigerators and toasters, et cetera. Bra spotted the white of the nurse uniform instantly, lying in the corner. She bent over the edge, reaching her hands out to grasp at the clean cloth. The problem was, she leaned little tooo far. All of a sudden she lost her balance and fell feet over head into the messy, disgusting thing.

Bra let out a squeal of horror, but slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound. Something shiny had caught her eye. It was a small object sitting right beside her left hand on the floor. She hunched over to get a better look, forgetting herself in her curiosity. It was thin and tube-shaped, almost completely transparent. A slightly bulging lip was distinguishable on the open end. It looked to be made of glass, and, though too small, reminded Bra of the test tubes her mother used all the time in her lab.

Using a handkerchief from her purse, Bra picked the tube up carefully. She wrapped it tightly and slid the package into her coat pocket. This could be evidence…of what, she had no clue, but she would find out. She wasn't the daughter of Bulma Briefs, genius extraordinaire, without knowing a few simple tricks.

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The archery competition's first round was getting a little frustrating for Trunks. He knew he had the capability to beat everyone in his group for marksmanship, but for some reason, his aim was off. He was now in third place, holding on by only a few meager points, and fading fast. He watched as the second-placed guy sent his arrow flying into the bulls-eye. This was not good.

He wiped his brow and frowned. His hand was uncommonly wet with sweat. He never sweated this much! Saiyans prided themselves in their ability to at least look the better fighter. Trunks looked as if he had run a marathon, and he had only shot two arrows!

Paying attention to his body, Trunks realized how fatigued and…queasy he felt. He was focused on his task, but if he let up his concentration even slightly the ground began to spin beneath him. Something hit him hard on the shoulder, racking his body with pain, and his focus cracked ever so minutely. It was enough. Colors swirled his vision apart, torrents ripped at his back, and darkness fell.

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Why was he doing so badly? Trunks was a great archer, or so Pan had heard. She crossed her arms and grimaced. If he kept this up, she might never have the chance to beat him. If he kept this up-

Suddenly the head of lavender hair her eyes had just been trained on disappeared. Surprised, she moved her eyes down to see a crumpled form resting pitifully before a bewildered nurse.

Those in the crowd who had also been watching Trunks lose gasped and milled around excitedly. Pan yelled out before she could stop herself.

"What the-? Trunks!" She ran out into the arena, easily avoiding the various guards who were now staring at the same scene she was heading towards. She pushed through the small crowd gathered over Trunks' still form and fell down at his side. "Trunks! Wake up!" She shook him furiously, but he only groaned deep in his throat and shifted slightly. Well at least he was still alive. She shook off the fear that constricted her heart and let out a sigh. The nurse was now working over Trunks across from Pan, feeling for a pulse and smoothing her hands over his forehead.

"He's burning up. Someone go get him some water. You, girl. Go get a big, cold glass of water, and make it quick." Pan stared at her dumbly. "Do you want him to get a full blown fever? Get the water now!" Pan bolted.

Only after she had returned with the water did indignance creep into her face. "You could've asked nicer, you know." The nurse only raised an eyebrow and continued her work. Pan sighed and swallowed her pride, noticing that Trunks wasn't sweating anymore.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Actually, yes. I believe a wet cloth applied to the head would be appropriate at this time." The nurse began to remove Trunks' armor. Pan's eyes widened, but she smiled weakly and did as asked.

"Strange." Pan looked up at the sudden word the nurse ejected.

"What?"

The nurse answered her question slowly, looking at Trunks' bare chest with a pensive frown. "He looks like he has a fever, but I've never known one to be so fierce. Trunks' temperature is so high that if he were a human he would be dead." The nurse fell silent, her face calm and obviously in deep thought.

Pan looked down at Trunks' face worriedly. He still wasn't sweating. "Uh…is it bad that he isn't perspiring?"

"No. Saiyans don't tend to sweat while unconscious. His fever isn't broken, though. We need to…" The nurse was interrupted by sirens blaring behind her. A large ambulance pulled up next to the crowd, releasing from its rear two EMTs and a stretcher. In a few seconds, Trunks was gone, the clammy hand that Pan had found herself gripping absent from hers. Dismayed, she stood amidst arguing officials and brewing fighters, straining to see Trunks' getaway. Snatches of conversation exploded in her uncaring ears.

"…my trainer says I shall not fight until this thing is sorted out! I demand…"

"…heard that there's something in the weather…"

"…he said that sabotage was what caused…"

"…they should stop and investigate…"

"…unsafe…"

"…dangerous…"

Pan felt a hand on her shoulder, and a familiar voice spoke softly in her ear. "Hey, Pan. I just saw something that is sooo totally like a police movie!" Pan allowed Bra to drag her out of the pressing crowds by the arm. "I was following you, and then I lost you, and then I went into this alleyway with no food, and then this nurse was up ahead of me stripping only it wasn't a nurse it was a guy and he threw the uniform into this trash thing and so I got it but I also found this." She paused for breath and held up a queer looking glass vial, touching it only with a clean looking hanky.

Pan gave her a look that said "Okaaaay…I think I got all that…" and placed her hands on her hips. "So…"

"So this tubey thing belonged to that strange guy! And guess what? I printed it and—"

"You printed it? Since when can you dust prints?"

"Since forever! My mom showed me when I was little and wanted to be a policewoman. So I ran the prints and guess who they belonged to?"

"Who?"

"Guess! Guess!"

"Keebler?"

"No. Good try, though. That's what I thought too, but then I remembered his dad pulled him from the Academy for the way they treated him in the trial. No loss to us, thank you. Anyways, the prints were Horatio T. Nabisco's, no qualms."

"Hey, wasn't he like Keebler's right hand man or something?"

"Yup. Good memory. Thing is, I talked to Joe the security guard and he said he hadn't seen Nabisco going near his dorm in a while, so nobody really knows where he is."

"Did you try asking his 'buddies?'"

"Yeah. They were hard to find, too. They're currently being questioned."

"So the superintendent knows about all this?"

"Yeah, and he's making a statement in ten minutes. Let's go listen!"

"You gave all your info to the secret police, then?"

"Yup. Nabisco is about to see what suspension is really like, I'd say."

"Bra, you are amazing."

"Thanks. I thought so, too."

Pan, although sated with this new development, was still worried about Trunks. What if he wasn't okay? What if the fever consumed him? What if he died? &Trunks, please don't die. Please,& she thought miserably.

Arriving at the podium, Pan found herself caught once again in a milling crowd. She shook her head, lost in her thoughts of the man she had hated so recently. Why did she suddenly feel so lost , like she couldn't do anything to help? Why did the very hint of his death send waves of pain through her entire body? She had to go see him.

"Here comes the superintendent, Pan. This is gonna be great!" Bra clenched Pan's arm in anticipation. Tears blurred Pan's vision.

But why had he betrayed her? Why had he…

"You think Trunks did that willingly, Pan?" Pan started. She must have spoken out loud. "Pan, Trunks was forced by Keebler and Nabisco!"

"But he didn't HAVE to do it! He did it cause he was worried about his stupid elite status! And now, I can't even fight! I've been preparing for so long…"

"Pan, we all make mistakes. Trunks helped me get the information on Keebler that allowed you to fight the consolation battle. And the only reason he's fighting now is for you. He knows you want revenge, and he means to let you have it!"

"So he wants to relieve his guilt, huh?" she stormed. "Well, I-"

"No!" Bra said it with such force that Pan jumped. "He's doing it because he wants you to be happy." For some reason, Pan almost believed her.

"Wha?" Pan looked at Bra, confused. "But I thought he hated me."

"You ninny, you've got it all wrong. He's in l- he likes you very much."

"I have to go talk to him. Oh, man, but he's still unconscious!" Her face suddenly colored with anger. "He'd better not die!" Breaking away from a protesting Bra, Pan sped away into the crowd.

"Ah, well. I'll at least listen to the superintendent."

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The speech of the superintendent of CSSF Academy on the Day of the Tournament, the twenty-third year of Advance, the Education Era:

"Students, Patrons, and esteemed Colleagues,

it has been brought to my attention that this the famed Tournament of the CSSF Academy has been sabotaged. A student here at this very Academy has unlawfully harmed one Trunks Briefs for the purpose of rendering him unable to fight. The water supply has been connected with this action. Due to the fact that all current fighters have been endangered, the tournament will be completely shut down until further notice. All facilities will be checked for harmful objects, and all participants will be questioned.

It has been determined by our own secret police that one Pan Son, previously withheld from participation in the games, is completely without guilt in this and all related matters. I hereby reinstate her into the games as a fighter.

When the games resume, all remaining fighters will be cleared of their losses, to make the sudden entrance of Ms. Son a fair event. There will be only one round for all fighters, with single elimination. The broadsword competition will be one to remember!"

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I feel so much better about this chapter now. As it was before, Pan was just a little too fluttery and wimpy in the face of Trunks' little mishap. But no longer! She is woman, hear her roar. Behehehe…

Review!


	12. The Tournament Continues

Last edit! I am quite content with leaving the rest alone, cause the stats are fine on them. Enjoy the read.

Just noticed that the 'Booms' in the beginning remind me of the techno Strongbad email. Hehe: 'c'mon, the Cheat, let's break that glowstick open and pour it into Homestar Runner's Mountain Dew. I hear they have to pump your stomach when you drink that stuff…'

Chapter 12

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Boom. Boom. Boom

The incessant pounding reverberated in the tunnels of his skull.

Boom. Boom.

A blackness strangled him, but somehow he was beginning to realize a faded glow all around him. The pounding continued, but slowed.

Boom.

Silence. He opened his eyes.

"I hope you realize what you've put me through." That voice…so familiar sounding, yet different somehow. It was that of a woman, but she sounded strained and unrested. He began to sit up and grunted as he was bodily thrust by two very strong feminine hands back to his cot.

"Hey!" he got out before his mouth was covered firmly.

"You are not to sit up, talk, or in any way attempt any physical movement period. I've been instructed to keep you immobile and immobile you shall be until you are in perfect health, got it? You haven't got the strength of a kitten right now so I suggest you don't try sitting up again. Anyway what I have to say to you does not require feedback." He finally got his eyes to focus on the figure that was speaking. She was cloaked in shadow, her arms crossed before her and her chin tipped up in a superior manner.

"Who in the world are you?" He suddenly found himself mumbling around a huge wad of cotton that appeared between his jaws, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, you have no right to do this to me!" Actually, what came out of his mouth was "Ai, ooaaaooohiiiiiooooiiiiieeeeeeemmmmmmmm!" His dictator would have none of it.

"Be quiet, or you'll have the opportunity to taste one of the nurse's concoctions while conscious. You will probably want to kill yourself if that happens. I know from experience." He could have sworn he saw her make a face despite the shadow. He decided to hear what this person had to say.

"Going to be a good boy, then? Alrighty. Listen and listen good. This is what I know. You are an elite fighter of extreme talent in the battlefield, and you could probably beat everyone in CSSF Academy. Your father is a fool and forces you to do things you hate to do, which results in your being highly unpopular amongst the students. You are intelligent as far as grades go, determined to get what you want, and egotistical to boot. However, you do care for other people and have proven that in just such a way as to sway me from punching you in the jaw right now. If I still felt the same way about you as I did an hour ago, I wouldn't be seen here if you paid me. And yet I still am annoyed by your behavior. So in order to appease yourself fully in my eyes, answer me this: Why'd you do it? Why did you participate in such a sleeze-filled scheme, even if not participating in it meant—heaven forbid--- your exclusion from Keebler's stupid little 'gang?' Answer me that, Trunks Briefs!"

"MMMMmfffftttkkkkkkkkkkkllllllwwwrrt." Trunks left it at that.

"Sorry. Here…" The figure reached out her hand to pull the cotton wad from his mouth and brought her face into the light, confirming his suspicions.

"Pan. I knew it was you." He smiled, but saw the serious glint in her eyes as she loomed over him, using his semi-recumbent position to her greatest advantage. "Pan, I was stupid. I know I shouldn't have done it, that Keebler wasn't even worth it…"

"So you're saying if it was anyone else besides Keebler telling you to do it, you would have, and with no regrets!"

"No! No, Pan. I mean I'm sorry. Really. I did something wrong, and I guess I'm seeing the consequences of my actions."

"I guess you are. Goodbye, Trunks. See you in the final ring. And believe me, I will beat you, make no mistake about that." Pan graced him with one final look of disappointment and anger before stalking off.

"Pan, wait!" Slam. She was gone. So much for the forgiveness he had hoped for.

He had done all he could for her. He had risked his position. He had fought in the tournament for her. And this was her thanks?

&I get the drift, Pan. You think I'm not worthy of you. But we'll see about that. See you in the ring.& Trunks shook his head to clear it and sat up. His head began to swim but he stayed upright anyway. He would beat her. He would show her he wasn't another nameless no-one she could walk all over.

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Pan sighed and let her head fall back against the door after she closed it. She wasn't really angry with Trunks, at least not as much. He seemed sincere in his regret, and she had to admit she liked the guy despite his stupidity. But the nurse had said he needed to stop mooning over how he had hurt her in order to be able to recover fully. So this was the only way, she supposed.

Adversaries they now were. They were never anything more, really. They moved and associated in totally different circles. There was no hint of anything more between them. Why had she even thought there could have been?

So now Trunks was truly going to fight her. And he was going to get a very good fight. She was going to win this thing if it killed her. It was all she had left.

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One week later the crowds were once more milling excitedly in the newly refurbished CSSF stadium. The water supply was fine and dandy, the equipment was all at its best, and any further impediment seemed pretty much impossible.

The broadsword competition. The most anticipated tournament fight was now here. Pan stood tall amidst the crowd of fighters, now lessened due to many panicked dropouts. Only fifteen remained to battle for the ultimate title. Pan gazed around her carefully, recognizing all the fighters skills as she had before. She could win this. But there were two problems. Trunks, and the strange male she had noticed a week ago.

The darkish man was again dressed very simply, but his broadsword glinted with devilish beauty as he ran his calloused thumb gently along the blade. He was going to be a problem.

Pan looked over to Trunks. He was now clad in a fine, light silver armor, truly playing the crowd. He was pulling out all the stops now, wasn't he? He spun out a few techniques with his weapon, deadly grace pervading every sweep of the sword. Pan simply stood at ease, her hands crossed lightly at her belly and her feet wide apart. She wasn't going to waste energy on the crowd. They would exalt her at the appropriate time.

The superintendent stepped up to the podium for the final round and the crowd roared. They were all itching to see this end once and for all. "Take your positions!" The superintendent knew the crowd wanted no long-winded speeches right now. Pan glided over to an outer circle alongside her opponent, a tall, packed kid with heavy grey armor and a plumed helmet. --Right. This shouldn't take long.-- The kid may have been protected well, but he was sure to move slowly in such a binding iron mail. All she had to do was avoid his attacks and whack him a few times and she'd have three times as many points as him.

"Fighters," SI began,

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Both Trunks and his speedy little challenger took their starting positions.

"Begin!" The tiny blue-clad fellow shot towards Trunks, his broadsword aimed straight at Trunks' belly. Stepping to the side, He avoided the brunt of the strike, but still heard metal scraping metal. Looking down at his armor, he noticed a small nick in its side. Luckily, he wasn't hurt. But now he had to pay the guy back for the blow. And he was quick. This wouldn't be easy.

The small fighter chuckled lightly and attacked again. This time, though, Trunks was ready. He jumped up and over the small one's head and landed behind him, swinging his own sword and striking his rival in the shoulder. The force of the blow knocked the guy for a loop, sending his helmet flying out of the ring. The little one yelped loudly and fell to his knees, holding his shoulder and blubbering. Trunks raised an eyebrow and moved closer to pat him on his good shoulder. "Nice try, Juan. Better luck next-" Trunks cut off as the guy brought his elbow back, connecting with Trunks' belly. Trunks felt his entire suit reverberate with the blow, but brought the flat edge of his blade hard against Juan's now-unprotected head. Juan slumped forward, unconscious.

"Well that was fun. Who's next?" Trunks raised an eyebrow at the gorgeous woman who now entered the ring, thin, delicate sword in hand. Robed in red, her swaying form sent his senses reeling. She lifted the thin veil protecting her face and blew him a kiss. What was with him getting paired up against beautiful women?

Trunks grinned slightly, dumbfounded by her sly smiles and light, fluttering breaths. He didn't even notice when she unsheathed her sword and aimed it at a weak point in his armor.

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Sweat dripped down Pan's face. This guy was tougher than he looked. It was all she could do to avoid his attacks. There was no way she could retaliate, not now. She swung away from another attack, swiveling around behind him and backing away as he turned and advanced slowly. As she was warily watching his approach, though, her eyes focused behind him to see Trunks. He was standing stock still and drooling as he watched a scantily clad diva prance around him.

What was he doing? What an idiot! He was enamored by a pair of eyes and a ludicrous outfit. Resentment coiled in her belly, and she gritted her teeth. For some reason she again felt betrayed, but in a different way than before. It didn't make sense to her. So many thoughts were swimming through her mind, half her concentration on Trunks' battle and half on her own, and she didn't have the leisure to identify what she was feeling.

But Pan saw as the woman, holding Trunks spellbound, raised her weapon to strike. She drew in breath to yell out a warning…

And yelled instead at the shock of pain that laced through her side. Why hadn't she been paying more attention! The stupid man in front of her had landed a blow. She stumbled back, clutching her side where her armor was completely torn off. It was bleeding, but she knew she had no time to nurse her wound. This was payback time.

"That's it, bucko, you're mine." She pictured her opponent with the head of Trunks and found all the necessary anger. "Take this, you muddle-brained womanizer!" She flew at him, teeth bared and sword flashing.

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Trunks started at the yell he heard from across the stadium. His senses recovered, he saw the bare blade coming down in the woman's hand and stopped it with his own quickly and firmly. "So that's your game, is it? Clever. But it won't work on me, I'm sorry to say." Trunks knocked her weapon to the ground and drove his palm up beneath her jaw. Her frail frame collapsed to the dusty ground. Trunks averted his eyes, feeling a small guilt rise in the pit of his stomach at harming a woman in such a way. He had to do it, though.

--The competition really isn't that difficult. I can see the trophy right now!-- Trunks smirked slightly and sauntered out of the ring. --Break time!--

Still feeling a bit uneasy about drinking the tournament water, nevermind the thousands of assurances that were pushed through his mind via advertisement posters and "Water Bob" mascots scattered throughout the stadium, Trunks forwent the liquid refreshment and popped a couple energy pills in his mouth instead. It wasn't very appealing to the tastebuds, but it sufficed to block the hunger pangs he was already feeling. Wiping his soggy forehead, he bent down, settling on a hard, slippery stone bench that was supposedly supposed to allow for 'rest and relaxation.' Yeah. For Vegeta.

Lifting the pale cloth from his brow, he allowed his tired eyes to focus on the bench in front of him. It was being used as a sickbed for the meds here, often for quick stitches or a bandage here or there. He raised an eyebrow when he recognized the eyes that were now glaring directly into his.

"We have to stop meeting like this. What would your father think?" Trunks almost smiled at her facetious grin but stopped short when Pan grunted in pain. He looked down to her belly to see what was causing such an outburst…and noticed that her abdomen was completely hidden beneath restrictive white wraps.

"What have you done to yourself, Pan?" She glared up at him through a veil of agony, twisting her mouth around words that were loath to leave her writhing lips.

"Wh…what….does…..ittt….ll.l.loook like?" She cut off, squeezing her lids tightly and hugged her shoulders tightly, shivering still after the effort. Shortly afterwards, the tremors stopped. She sighed. "In case you were wondering, I'm fine."

"I was wondering no such thing. I just want you to fight me in the finals. You will be fine by then I hope?" Pan's eyes opened in what looked to be surprise, but anger quickly dominated.

"Get out of here! If all you care about is your petty little game, then I have no interest in you or your stupid desires to fight me to satisfy your superiority complex over anything female that moves!" She winced as her wound throbbed again. She went on in a quieter voice. "But be sure, Trunks, I will be up and punching before my next round, and when the finals come around, if another pretty smile hasn't beat you, I will fight you! Then we'll see who the better fighter is!" Pan's face was reddened considerably following that emotional outburst, and her body tightened, once again enduring the shaking that accompanied her wound. After they stopped, she noticed Trunks still standing over her, watching her. He held his face in an indifferent mask. She sighed. "Leave."

Trunks beat down the urge to shout out his soul and shake Pan into the truth, turning jauntily and stalking off, his own anger rising substantially. Why was this so complicated? Why couldn't things go his way just this once? Why did he hate someone he liked so much?

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Fighting continued despite the tumultuous emotions of the young. Spectators roared with each victory that pointed towards the final fight. All shifted their gazes over to the vacant central ring, perhaps imagining the amazing battle that was soon to occur therein. Fighters, too, fantasized about that attraction, seeing their glorious (and humble) acceptance of the winner's trophy, the most coveted prize in the sector.

And then the quarterfinals came. In one ring, the up-and-coming Pan Son, maiden extraordinaire, versus the indomitable Hydra, a highly skilled madman from the farthest reaches of Nantooquet. In the other, the ever-popular Trunks Briefs versus the darkish man who many said was the epitome of Death himself. His name was Darek M'vilan.

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Ah, editing is a cleansing process. Reviewing completes the process. So, ah. Yeah. Please?


	13. The Qatorans!

Okay, I just pulled this one out of the dust and cobwebs. I haven't written this thing in approximately fifty or so years, give or take a few…but I finally got an idea for a finish for the storyline. The end is near! Take heed! Sorry to all those people who read the beginning and then suddenly noticed I wasn't writing much anymore…I guess I kinda took a vacation from fan fiction altogether. But have no fear, I'm back, and I may have a few ideas swimming around in this wacko brain of mine that may make some kewl fics. Or not. At any rate, this will be fun.  
  
This chapter is not the final one, and I don't think the final chapter will come for at least a little while. So sit back, relax, and read. BTW, you may have forgotten entirely what that plot was before this. If so, I recommend skimming previous chapters. I myself tried writing after fifty years of nothing and couldn't remember anything, so I had to read the entire long, boring thing…okay, so it isn't exactly boring. But I'd bet my little preludes are! Have fun, thanks for reviewing, and continue reviewing and reading and such because it is my only sustenance in this cruel world…sigh.  
  
Disc. I don't own DBZ.  
  
Chapter 13  
  
  
  
He didn't look to be a skilled artisan. He held his weapon limply at his side, smoothing his dark hair and smiling softly. Trunks eyed the man's movements carefully while cleaning his sword. He was definitely underestimating the man; surely he must have some talent to make it so far. Trunks looked closer. What was he hiding beneath that simple leather jerkin?  
  
Trunks' sharp scan soon turned up results. The dark one had calloused fingers which held his sword comfortably. A few scars along his arms spoke of previous skirmishes. Well-worked muscles lined his calves and forearms. This man was no ordinary fighter. He knew his business. Trunks knew he'd have to use all his techniques efficiently to have any chance at all against this guy.  
  
Trunks quickly brandished his sword (politely, considering the circumstances), but with an undercurrent of menace he was sure a learned fighter would pick up. The dark one nodded and did the same, adding a short hook at the end of the blade's sweep, as if to say, 'Bring it on.' This was Trunks' language. He smiled and crouched low, itching to begin.  
  
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Hydra. Hydra. Hydra. Hydra.  
  
The crowd began chanting wildly as the graceful warrior slithered into the ring. His booted feet slid easily in the dirt as he moved through basic sword maneuvers, pleasing his loyal following succinctly. "Throto, Gradien, Bladatru! All the easiest motions and the crowd is loving it all!" Pan snorted with disgust. She'd certainly never drop so low for an audience. Hydra moved into a well-known defense technique, and Pan brought up its name. "Gardlok! I learned that when I was, like, two!" She sighed, knowing her rants would never slow Hydra or his fandom down, and hefted her trusty broadsword in hand. Blowing her errant bangs from view, she clenched her free fist and stalked into the ring.  
  
*Well, this had better be worth it, because I haven't had one good fight all day.* Grimacing, she stood low, ready to parry any attack and slice through any defense.  
  
The bell rang, and her muscles clenched in anticipation.  
  
****************  
  
Ding!  
  
The dark one came at Trunks full-force. The speed of his blade sent rushes of air along Trunks' face, cooling the beads of sweat that already popped out along his brow. Parry. Parry. Trunks was working so hard, he couldn't keep his mind fast enough to attack. All he could do was block the silver from scathing his skin.  
  
*Think, Trunks! Where's the weakness?* He searched his opponent at whatever chance presented itself, clocking the strikes and, just in time, stopping the blade's fury. He could feel his first loss coming up fast.  
  
What could he do? The man was a machine, striking incessantly and skillfully at every opening Trunks ever had in his life. It was as is the man knew what Trunks was thinking. Every slice was followed by a cut, and then a swing, and then a kick. The man just wouldn't let up! Trunks quickly thought up a plan of action, and, following a quick block, he leapt backwards and spun his blade, stopping the dark one's in midair. They had reached a stalemate. Trunks was breathing heavily, and, he realized with satisfaction, so was the dark one. Perhaps he wasn't superhuman after all...  
  
*************  
  
Hydra wasn't all he was cracked up to be. Sure, he was an efficient swordsman, a great tactician, and an excellent attacker. But a defender he was not. All Pan had to do was block him and attack, and the fight was hers. However, his attacks were a force to be reckoned with. He had dropped the basics bit and was now employing intricate flickers and slices, some of which Pan could not even recognize. They seemed to her to be of a different discipline entirely. Perhaps even of a different world.  
  
She had to get an attack in. Just one stupid attack would win her the fight! But Hydra's blade continued its barrage. And then she had him.  
  
Suddenly, a shout from the crowd jolted the air. "Hydra! Hydra! JACK!!!" Hydra looked up from his attack towards the voice. "You're wife, she...she just had...a baby girl!" Hydra...Jack...turned his back on Pan completely and waved at the voice.  
  
"Really? That's wonderful!" Guilty but determined, Pan took her chance and attacked Jack's back with the blunt edge of her sword. He fell quickly. "Sorry, Jack. Congratulations. You're a father." She smiled slightly and lifted the poor man to his feet.  
  
He groaned. "Hey. No problem. I guess." He smiled sheepishly and waddled towards the crowd, gingerly nursing his bruised back.  
  
******************  
  
Opening! Where's the opening? There! Trunks saw the hole and eagerly went for it, all too late realizing the cunning trap for what it was. He soon found himself with his nose grinding against the dirt, his arms trapped behind him. Darn.  
  
"It seems that I have the upper hand here, Trunks." The too-normal male voice entered his dulled ears obtrusively. "I'm so sorry to remove from you your fabled winning streak, but I must say, the pleasure is all mine." Trunks knew he was about to find himself unconscious and summed up all his remaining strength. He yelled at the top of his lungs and threw his head up, striking what he hoped was some vulnerability in the dark one's armor. He heard a loud crack and hoped he hadn't split his head open. That's sure what it felt like. Head throbbing, he now rolled to the side, yanking his arms away and spinning to his feet, his fists held in a threatening stance.  
  
It was then that he noticed that the dark one was lying on the ground, groaning. Trunks had struck something vulnerable with his head! He noted that the man was cradling his hand, which was obviously broken. His fingers were spread out and his wrist jutted forward at an odd angle. The man was crying like a baby.  
  
"Um...Sorry?" Trunks tried. The dark one simply glared at him through frustrated tears and allowed himself to be carried out of the ring. Trunks rubbed the back of his head and turned slowly amidst cheers from the crowd to see a pair of deep black eyes watching him intently. He narrowed his own and smiled in what he hoped was a challenging way.  
  
**************  
  
Pan's stomach fluttered as Trunks' perfect eyes rested solely on her. She steeled her emotions and glared at him with all the animosity she could muster.  
  
  
  
And then there were two.  
  
*************  
  
Silence filled the crowded arena. A few coughs here or there sounded deafening in the ears of the multitude. The final two fighters stood facing each other, one a bold woman with an iron will, the other a disciplined warrior with controlled fire in his blade. The air was polarized with an electric current, sweeping its way through the stadium, touching each watcher and linking everyone together in a feeling of anticipation. This was what they were waiting for.  
  
Trunks slowly scanned Pan's face as she polished her sword in a last attempt at preparation. She looked...beautiful, yes, but that was how she always looked. She looked different. She seemed to hold a great weight on her soul. Trunks wondered if he was the cause. {Of course he's the cause. You and I know it. Why doesn't he? Because he's a - say it with me now - MAN. Apologies to all the men out there, but you know it's true, at least in the most general and stereotypical sense.}  
  
Pulling his mask on, Trunks crossed his arms, for once skipping the crowd-pleasing, and waited. He'd win this one, even if he did love his opponent. (Of course, Trunks did not actually admit this to himself. However, due to the fact that all men do that (sorry for that, but I'm in a male-bashing mood. Don't sue. I have no money to speak of), I decided to put that little statement in because we all know he's actually thinking it somewhere in the depths of his curious mind. So now we don't have to wonder anymore, as if we were anyways. Back to the story.) He had vowed never to be defeated long before. He would not break that vow for the deepest blackest eyes he had ever seen(again, not his actual thought. But he does actually feel like this. I know it because I'm writing it. Why does he not admit that he is smitten with the girl? Because, again, he is of the male sex and ALL men (overgeneralization) HATE (stereotype, hyperbole) admitting ANYTHING (hyperbole again) to themselves EVER(once again, hyperbole - isn't it wonderful?). On with the story. I'll try not to interrupt again.).  
  
****************  
  
Pan noticed that Trunks was patiently standing at the ready, and deliberately took her sweet time in cleaning her sword. She stuck the point in the ground in front of her and left it there, defying all laws of physics, as she tightened her gloves and stretched her quads. Her armor creaked as she twisted left and right, releasing kinks in her back that she had long since forgotten. Her well-healed wound from a few fights ago was threatening to open. She gritted her teeth against the pain. *That's what you get for trusting the doc's new 'miracle' treatment.* She grimaced and finally gripped the hilt of the broadsword before her, readying to battle to win.  
  
The superintendent rose to the podium to begin the fight. Instead of doing so, he launched into a lengthy, boring speech about the honor of making it to the final fight and the pride they should feel and so on and so forth. Pan almost sighed in boredom, but caught herself and instead focused her attention on counting the number of times Trunks tapped his thumb against his forearm as he, too, awaited the fight. So he wasn't so collected as she had thought. All the better.  
  
Finally, the oration stopped and a ring sounded in the arena. Neither fighter made a move. Indeed, Pan had not yet donned her helmet. Instead, Trunks and Pan simply looked at each other. They considered the situation carefully. They skepticized as to the fatigue they were surely both experiencing. And then they both moved, simultaneously, to circle each other slowly.  
  
The ritual continued endlessly. All Pan heard was the soft, easy breaths coming from Trunks and the halting gasps escaping her mouth. Her heartbeat rose in her throat. Dust clouds rose where the two fighters walked. Her sword threatened to begin shaking in her hands.  
  
"Well, Trunks, it looks as if you have made it this far quite easily."  
  
"Mm-hmm." Trunks continued circling, and Pan followed suit.  
  
"I suppose you think you're going to win this fight with the same ease as you won all the others?"  
  
"Mm-hmm." Pan snorted slightly. This 'Mm-hmm' business was getting on her nerves.  
  
"Well, if that's the way you're going to play it, Trunks, I guess we have nothing to say to each other." Keep calm, Pan. Anger is not a good mindset in which to fight!  
  
Trunks stopped circling. His helmet blinded her eyes. He raised his sword and pointed it straight at her forehead. She supressed the urge to gulp.  
  
"Mm-hmm." He said pointedly. Pan broke.  
  
"That's it, wonderboy, you're mine!" She raised her sword and lunged at him.  
  
He parried easily, of course. Pan knew she should get a hold of herself, but she was swamped in a deluge of emotions that had her by the throat. She fiercely swung and struck, blind to the results, neglecting any defense at all. She came to herself when a quick, sharp blow to her temple sent her flying through the air. She landed in a heap on the edge of the ring. She cringed, expecting Trunks to finish her off then and there. But no final attack came.  
  
Pan dared a peek up and saw that Trunks was standing at the other end of the ring, waiting. She jutted her chin forward in determination and pushed her battered body off the ground. Her hatred had fled, leaving only a grim emptiness. Exactly what she needed now. She grinned. "Thanks for the pity, but don't expect the same from me when you're in just such a situation."  
  
"Mm-hmm." Pan only laughed and lifted her sword slowly, eyes blazing, to point it directly at his throat.  
  
****************  
  
Trunks was rather shocked at the fury Pan had shown with her last attack. He now knew (finally) that he was the cause of all her anger. It pained him. He didn't know exactly why he felt regret. He pushed all thought from his mind, though. Her fury meant his gain. He tried to stoke it again with what had previously set it ablaze.  
  
It didn't work. He expected it. Now the real fight began.  
  
The audience was in complete awe of the final fighters as they spun across the ring. Their movements were fluid and exact. Their blades blurred and the sounds of metal on metal filled the silence. Then they found their voices.  
  
Cheers erupted from the crowd. "Hurrah! Pan! Trunks! Hurrah!" "Wahoooooooooooo!" "Keep going!" "Watch it, Trunks!" Trunks and Pan, though, were unperturbed by the sudden noise. They were caught in a dance of steel. They twisted and turned, complementing each other in motion even as they tried to gain the upper hand. Pan leapt, Trunks dove. Trunks swung, Pan blocked. Air moved at speeds unclockable as metal swung even faster. Waves upon waves of attacks and defenses came from each fighter. They were evenly matched.  
  
But then, the audience's jubilation died down. The superintendent looked about quizzicly. A few pointed to the sky, and he looked to where they indicated.  
  
Trunks and Pan were oblivious to the sudden silence. They continued their dance unheeded by the masses.  
  
The superintendent, flustered, used the main com-link and angrily connected with the Academy's military post. He couldn't reach them. The lines had been disrupted by someone...something...  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen. It seems we have a slight situation here. But please, we are currently working to fix this...problem. Have no fear." He flicked his fearful eyes to the sky, finally taking in fully the terror of their situation. Qatorans.  
  
Finally, Pan broke from the battle, noticing that all was not as it should have been. For one thing, the audience wasn't watching them intensely. Trunks yelled a battle cry and swung in for the death blow. She blocked it with all her strength. "Trunks, you fool! Can't you see what's happening here?!" She ducked another swing and tackled him. He was in such a fever of battle, he was almost incoherent. She pinned him down and tried to shake some sense into him.  
  
"Aaaaaah! What? What are you doing that for??" Trunks glared up at her. She sighed and dropped her head to his armored chest with a thud.  
  
"Because of them." She breathed heavily and jerked a thumb over her shoulder, while suddenly realizing her position. And then realizing she liked it. A lot. It was not to be enjoyed, however, for as she said her last words, Trunks sat up. She yelped and scrambled off of him, hitting her forehead repeatedly with her hand. *Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid!*  
  
Thankfully, Trunks didn't notice her insane actions, focused instead on the massive ship that now blocked the sun from view and blanketed the arena in shadow. "Oh, no. Not them." He had seen thousands of pictures in history. He knew them by rote. They were not compromisers. They were destroyers. Qatorans.  
  
Pan followed his gaze and gasped. The large, imposing ship was beautiful in its terror. She shivered and crawled up next to Trunks. "Are th-those what I think they are?" She shivered again.  
  
"Qatorans. Yes." Trunks sat back and tore his eyes away from the ship. "This is not a good thing, Pan. This isn't good." (duh)  
  
Trunks rose now, and quickly raced across the ring to the podium, where he began speaking rapidly with the superintendent. Pan watched, dumbfounded, as the two men had a heated conversation, Trunks demanding, the superintendent strongly disagreeing. Finally, the older man nodded. Trunks leaped off the podium and raced towards an exit. Pan followed him.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked when she had finally caught up with Trunks.  
  
"I have to help defend the Academy. I'm going to the military unit to see what's blocking communications." He ran faster.  
  
Pan sped up. "I'm coming too." Trunks looked over at her, shook his head resignedly, and continued running full-speed. The two raced on through the exit and across the deserted campus, heading towards the defense complex.  
  
******************  
  
"Someone's cutting off this line. That's why we haven't been able to get word across. We're all very involved, so we couldn't spare anyone to run and tell you guys the problem." Trunks nodded and followed the man who was continuously barking orders to his officers. Pan trailed them both, listening for catches of their conversation.  
  
"We short on men. We weren't expecting an invasion, even one ship. We should have been, I guess, but the Qatorans have been dormant for over fifty years. HEY! GET UP AND START SCANNING THAT SHIP, PRONTO!! We have some K-7 fighter crafts, but no-one to fly them. We have a great, efficient shield, but noone to maintain it. We have a ship just fifty parsecs away- YOU MORON! GET UP AND DO SOMETHING USEFUL!!! - with the efficiency and power to destroy the Qatorans with one shot, but no way to contact it. NOW! NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW! If only we could get a message through to the Argo, we'd stand a chance against these NO! NONONONONONONONONONO!!! bullies. But if there's anything you can do, YOU IDIOT! THE QUARTERDECK, NOT THE BRIG!!! please don't hesitate. At all."  
  
Bewildered at the sudden outbursts from the commanding officer, Trunks was at a loss for words for the moment. But then he thought through the situation logically and coherently...and came up with nothing.  
  
"Is there anything I can do, Trunks?" Pan tapped him softly on the shoulder. "I feel so useless here. I do have abilities that are just as effective as yours, you know. Let me help you." Trunks looked at her.  
  
"Well, for one thing, do you have any ideas for how to get the Argo over here with no comm link?" Trunks paused expectantly. Pan grinned.  
  
"Didn't he just say he had a bunch of pilotless K-7's?" Her grin widened. Trunks raised an eyebrow. "Don't you see, dummy? All we have to do is fly those babies to the Argo, tell them what's happening here, and our problems are solved!"  
  
"Yeah, all but one little catch. The Qatorans aren't just going to let us waltz past them to get someone to help destroy them. They aren't idiots. They're trained warriors. Also, two of those things would definitely be a plus in the air, so they could cover each others' backs. You heard the man, they have no pilots. I can fly one...maybe, but that's all."  
  
"You didn't spend much time listening in Tactics, did you?" Pan snorted. "All we need is a good decoy, luring their fire away from us as we escape."  
  
"Us? I think not. You mean 'I,' right?" Pan glared at him.  
  
"I happen to be the best pilot of small fighter crafts in my entire class, thank-you-very-much! I happen to have great targeting skills, and, if I do say so myself, am mcuh better than you in that respect. So I'm going TOO!!!" She spat the last word at him full force, smiling with satisfaction at the bewildered face he quickly tried to cover up. His face then clouded with anger.  
  
"Listen,-" The commander entered the room.  
  
"So, are you guys gonna help, or..."  
  
"Sir, we'd like to request permission to take two of the K-7s out for a spin to tell the Argo what's up. We believe that if you draw their attention for a bit by sending out a decoy..."  
  
So the plans were quickly drawn up, the commander slightly disapproving, but unable to hinder the two students' enthusiasm. Maybe this would actually work. Maybe...  
  
*********************  
  
Oooooooh. This could get interesting. It's getting trekkier by the minute! Ah, well, I guess in fan fiction you kinda have to steal a lot from your favorite shows. I may have the Qatorans be either Borg-like or Klingon- like. Any suggestions? Or do you not give a rip either way? Or do you not even know what Star Trek NG is? You poor, deprived people. Oh, well. I'll try to get the next chapter out soon. Reviews would be much appreciated!!!! J :) :) :) 


	14. Confuse-A-Qatoran, Ltd.

Okay, sorry for the wait, but you know how it is. Homework. Homework. Did I mention homework? Anyhoo, I do have more plot and stuff, so don't think this is gonna be one of those stories where the author just loses interest and leaves everyone wondering what would have happened. I hate it when that happens. And I know, I haven't been a perfect updater…okay, so I'm a not so good updater….ALRIGHT! I admit it! I'm the worst updater in the world! (sobs) Alas, though, I cannot fix it. 'Tis a character flaw. 

Thanks muchly for the great reviews! Sheylan, you and your friends are great, sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter. Lothlorien, yes I love Monty Python, and Card Captors, and thanks so much for giving me input on the Qatoran species thing. I think I may follow your advice…maybe. It all depends. But thanks for the support, everyone! See you in the next chapter!

***********

Chapter 14

***********

Graffal clenched his damp fingers together, molding them in an eternal death grip around his lucky charm. The well-worn figurine simply looked at him, oblivious to his obvious distress. His dirty helmet sat beside him on the wooden bench. His dress shirt was unzipped far enough that an ample amount of sweat-filled chest hair poked out. His pot belly quivered as he leaned forward, doing all he could to keep from sobbing in absolute terror. He bit his unshaven upper lip and squeezed his eyes shut, simply sitting still in his hunched position and taking in the sounds of preparation - preparation for his murder.

Oh, sure, they all said he wasn't going to die or anything. In fact, they had the gall to add that they wanted him to come over for dinner tonight. But Graffel knew better. Graffel knew they had been after him all along; they all had it in for him from the very beginning. He shook his head to clear it from the muddled resignedness that threatened him. Sometimes he himself was convinced he was doing something honorable. But this wasn't great or heroic. It was suicide! A kamikaze mission assigned by those who said they believed in the sanctity of human life! Hah! What a laugh. Whatever language he put it in, Graffel knew one thing; he would not survive to see another sunrise.

"What do you think, horse? Do you care that this is my last day on earth?" The horse looked at him with his beady eyes. Sometimes he seemed almost sympathetic. Not today. He was mocking him, too. Like everyone else. "Well, fine! Be that way!!!" Graffel heaved the small figure at the opposing window in a fit of rage and stared at the small fracture he had made in the glass. His eyes focused past it to comprehend the large, imposing vessel that used to be one of the janitorial ships that worked at the nearby starbase. Now it was decked out in rainbow colors. It was now a technologically advanced rodeo clown, meant for one thing; to die. In happy multichromatic sunshine. Whoopie.

Graffel was the poor sap chosen to fly the harlequin ship to doom's doorstep. He was none too happy about such a prospect. 

Looking down again in despair, he noticed his little figurine staring sadly up at him, abandoned. "Oh, horse! Forgive me! I'm so sorry! You're my one true friend, really!" He began to cradle the silver animal in his arms, cooing to it. It was in this state that Pan found him.

***********************

*Who is this guy? A lunatic? And what the heck is he all worked up about?* Pan cringed at the pitiful actions of the middle-aged man before her. She had been on her way to pick up a man who was to pilot the decoy mission, and this little episode was unexpected. She kinda hoped this guy would be gone when an actual, factual pilot appeared…

"Uh…excuse me? Sir?" The man raised red-rimmed eyes up and stood, albeit shakily. "Are you doing alright there?" The man only broke into another barrage of sobs. Pan raised a hand to ward off errant drops of water and waited patiently. After the man slowed his breathing a modicum and was able to stand without shaking heavily, she grabbed him by the arms and sat him down as gently as she could. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Horse! My poor horse. I'm soooo SORRY!" Sobs again. Sigh. Pan comforted him.

"Did your poor horse have to go away for a while?" Sure, she was patronizing, but this guy seemed to be a couple penguins shy of a tuxedo junction. She waited again.

"My…my life…is over. WAAAAAAAAAH!" He leaned his large head on her shoulder. She shied back and cringed yet again. This guy was sweating! Ick! Oh, well…might as well make the best of it.

"What do you mean by that? Are you depressed? Do you feel like life is not worth living? (Do you sometimes feel you are bombarded with questions that come at really inopportune times and are really annoying and stereotypical and you just gotta hit something…like your therapist, for instance?)(no, I am not seeing a therapist, though people tell me it may not be such a bad idea;) )"

"I love life! They're trying to kill me! I have to go neeeeeeeeeeeeeeWHOOOOSH and then go BOOOOOM and then it's bye-bye for me!" Pan stared at him for a while with a fixed expression of amazement. She had found a living village idiot! She thought such stories were merely to frighten children, but she guessed she had been wrong all along…

"Ooooookaaaaaay…would you like to explain that using syntax?" She knew she wasn't quite comforting anymore, but this was aggravating. She wasn't a social worker.

"A decoy! That's all I am to them! A stupid, stupid, clown for the kicking! Ooooooh, what am I gonna DOOOOOOO?" Pan stood then, surprised. *This* was the pilot? He was unstable! He could detonate at any moment! This could not happen. Pan had to do something.

"Wait right here, sir. You're not going to be a decoy anymore if I have anything to do with it." They needed a decoy pilot, and quick. But who? To suffer such risk with no promises of safety, who would volunteer with such guidelines? And then, Pan knew it. She knew who could pilot the decoy. She knew who had the skills needed to lure the danger away from the planet. 

Her.

**********************

Trunks hopped into the cabin of the K-7. The controls shone with the polish of just-out-of-the-box freshness, and filled the enclosure with a smell of newness. He sat in the comfortable seat, flipping on the view screen and running a couple tactical checks. He began heating up the system's driving core, relishing the quick hum of the engine as it took in power. 

His eyes traveled over to the open side hatch. Through it he could see the partner K-7, currently vacant. Where was she? 

{{Trunks Briefs, we have a message for you. It's about a Miss… Pan Sun? Sin? I dunno, but it's urgent.}}

Trunks raised an eyebrow. This sounded strange… "Go on, then."

{{Sure. It says, and I quote: "Trunks, you baka, I never should have listened to you in the first place. This is a stupid idea. We'd never be able to get past a fully loaded and armored Qatoran ship even if we were the best pilots in the universe. I vote to forgo the heroic efforts and resign myself to my fate. Being dominated. I hope you will, too. But knowing you, you'll never give up. You'll never win, either. I'm not coming. That's that. By the time you get this, I'm in Bermuda, taking in sunshine. Ciao.}}

Another eyebrow lifted quizzically. He didn't believe it for a second. Pan wasn't a cop-out. He knew it from the first fight they'd had. She gave her all in everything she did. She wouldn't give up now. This had the stench of "feminine conniving" written all over it…

Then again, time was short. He couldn't leave now and try to stop whatever crazy, dangerous plan she was attempting, so he'd just have to hope she was safe in her position on the battlefield. Now all he could do was wait for the decoy. Then he could make his move.

***************

Pan shook hands with Commander Keeth and quickly grabbed the pack that she had thrown together a moment before. She lugged the heavy, awkward bulk along the runway, heading at her speediest waddle to the entrance of the decoy, now lovingly termed "the chuckles-mobile." She smiled inwardly at the enthusiastic joking she had seen when the few resident militants began good-naturedly ridiculing the poor vessel. They were good people; persistant, courageous, and tenacious. A pity she hadn't met them sooner. A fleeting shimmer of fear laced itself across her skin as she climbed into the main cockpit. She suppressed any further terrors, more because she thought she might become akin to poor Mr. Graffel than because she feared her impending mission. 

Her pack landed beside her with a thud. She began a quick rundown of her ship. Fortunately, the technicians had had some time to update a few systems and install a few others. Pan soon found, to her delight (she's a sick puppy) that the ship was now fully loaded with lightweight yet deadly weapons, as well as a very efficient driver system, an extra "life-boat" type ship for emergencies, and fifteen or so cutting-edge short-range probes. If she happened to encounter the Qatoran ship, she'd be quite able to get volumes of information on their technology.

And if the bakas happened to attack her, they'd have no easy capture. She had a shield that could withstand 100,000,006 metric tons of pressure, ward of at least fifty-one photon torpedoes, and block any type ten phaser out there. This Neo-shield made the chuckling bag of bolts capable of successfully playing chicken with a small planet…without moving an inch. (Did that make sense? I hope it did…)

Pan efficiently completed scans and stood, shuffling through her pack for some items that she had known she would need sometime. First, she drew from the leather folds a type B phaser, which she jammed into the back pocket of her loose black slacks. She stuffed the cuffs of said pants into her tall, comfy boots. A handful of razor-edged daggers exited the pack next. She had had them made in her second year at the Academy, and they were specially balanced for her throwing style. Kugo would have loved them. She slid a couple into her boots, feeling the cold metal scrape her ankles. Two more went up her baggy sleeves. Another was stuck along the back of her neck, where it rested between her shoulder blades. She continued hiding the knives at various places about her person, and soon she had gained quite a few pounds. Finally, she pulled her broadsword and sheath from the bag, belting it around her compact waist and savoring the relaxed weight of the weapon as it eased across her belly. Fear now left her. She was prepared for anything the Qatorans had to throw at her. 

{{Pan, we've sent the message to him, but he probably didn't buy it.}}

Pan raised her head slightly. She hadn't expected him to. "No matter. Just make sure he does what he's supposed to, and I'll do my job. It time yet?"

{{Well, I'll have to tell him, but yeah. As soon as you see his ship exit the cargo bay, you'll have free airspace and clearance. Good luck.}}

"Thanks." Sighing, Pan smoothed her bangs away from her forehead and sat in the pilot's seat. She would not be nervous. She was calm. She could do this!

*******************

Trunks sat at the ready, his dark helmet sitting easily atop his head. He could hear his heavy breathing whisper in his ears, and struggled to slow his oxygen intake. This was no time to get dizzy. 

His hand gripped the control stick between his knees, and his free fingers hovered over the main board, ready to command the ship to lift off. No runway lay before him; k-7s were well-known for their vertical take-off and landing capabilities. They were also known for their speed.

{{Ready, Trunks?}}

Ready? Ready?? Pan is out there getting herself killed and you're asking me if I'm ready to abandon her to her fate? DO YOU THINK I'M READY??

"Yes, sir."

{{Very well. You may go at any time; the Qatorans will be duly decoyed; I have full faith in our new pilot.}}

"New pilot? Wha?" Trunks barely got the first two words off his tongue when he realized the short-range message had been severed. He grimaced. So this was what Pan wa sup to. She was going to get herself killed!

Pushing his tumultuous emotions aside, Trunks lifted the K-7 carefully off the bay floor. Checking overhead to confirm that the ceiling access was indeed open, he accelerated up and exited the military complex. He headed for the atmosphere. 

*************

Pan nodded when the signal came and slowly revved up the sick old engine of her vessel. A great speed system had been installed, but the burners required the vessel to be airborne and in space for efficiency of fuel usage. Pan had to rely on the ship's original propulsion to get her off the planet and through the atmosphere. The would be quite a feat.

She heard the engine respond to her constant urging and felt herself being shaken; first slowly, then quite vigorously. She was happy modern ships didn't shake a body so when they took off. She'd just have to endure it. Her jaw chattered and her knees began to knock each other. She'd surely have bruises after this episode…

Finally, the jolly giant inched forward, ever so slowly, heading down one of the longest runways the military could provide. Pan really hoped she could pull this off. She increased speed, and soon she was clocking along at 40 miles an hour. Not good. "Come, on, chuckles, you know you can do this! You've done this before, haven't you? Come on, speed up!" At that, she slammed her hand on the "gas" of the system and heard a low growl hiss from beneath her. The engine had stopped. She'd have to get back to the beginning and start again! And time was running out. She had to get up there to stop the Qatorans from discovering Trunks' K-7! But perhaps there was some other way…

Pan scanned the surrounding airfield and saw a shipment of Ko'Rathen crystals (future TNT-huzzah) awaiting their distribution. The people didn't really *need* Ko'Rathen crystals. At least not now. Pan made sure no life forms were wandering to near the shipment and the aimed her rear weapons at the shipment. 

"Okay…either the resultant explosion propels me forward with enough speed to obtain escape velocity, or…I get blown to bits. Great fun. Well, I have no other choice, so here goes…" She fired her rear weapons and waited. Nothing happened. "Huh? I just blasted that highly volatile pile of explosives with my most powerful weapon, and NOTHING HAPPENS?" She turned around in her seat to eye the rear window. The pile just sat there. This was-

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, so it worked.

Pan felt her ship shoot forward down the runway, and clung to her chair, hanging on for dear life. Flames licked the rear hull as she sped, riding the wave of extreme heat. Millions of alert beeps blared in her ears. HULL BREACH, one readout stated. She'd have to risk it. Shields up to maximum power. She'd need all the armor she could get to leave the atmosphere safely. 

She pulled the wheels of the ship in and sped up to maximum velocity. She was flying along at quite a rate, now. She raised the structure up into the air, using all of its systems simultaneously just to keep from blowing up. Soon, she was ascending through the sky at an alarming rate. Clouds passed by her smoking hull. Blue sky appeared over head, and Pan continued urging the ship higher, ever higher. Citius, Altius, Fortius! (sorry, I had to. Hey, the Olympics just ended…just say that's my little tribute).

Soon, blue graded to ebony and Pan gasped. The Qatoran ship was directly in front of her.

Pan calmed herself down and checked over her damage reports. Apparently, the hull was breached, but only slightly, and on deck 3. The uselessness of the deck and remote placement of the breach made it easy for Pan to fix the problem. She sealed off the deck and looked to her more immediate problem.

********************

All systems were off. No energy permeated the efficient barrier recently employed by Chikyu's new K-7's-essentially, the ship was invisible to all sensors save the human eye. Easily remedied; Trunks observed from a hideaway behind a conveniently placed asteroidish mass-type-thing as Pan burst through the outer atmosphere in a bulky, rainbowy (running out of adjectives here, folks) ship that had been burned almost to a crisp. Almost, but not quite. She seemed to be okay for now, so Trunks remained where he was. No point getting them both into trouble with the Qatorans. If worse came to worse, he'd still have the element of surprise. As if that would boost their advantage at all against a primed battleship full of disgruntled Qatorans. He knew they still begrudged the Chikyu-Saiyan alliance their swift retaliations at the Form-Alda wars on planet Hyde over a hundred years ago. The Qatorans had been ready to swallow up the Hydian planet for its huge supply of Tygan fluid. Control over such an influential element would have given Qatar a huge one-up on the raw-material-dependent fourth sector, where Chikyu was located. The fleet, overseen by Vegeta the great-from whom the current Vegeta descended-was quick to deploy their best armada, and squelched the squabble before the Qatorans could say "Cheesecake." (Qatorans are very fond of cheesecake-the only part of their softer side that has been allowed to be seen by the public eye.) 

But years later, the fleet that once was so inadequate in battle had been modified so that it posed a great threat to Chikyu society. Some had predicted such an advancement in armament among the Qatorans, but most politicians and military leaders had been so focused on the mundane that they had completely forgotten their third-sector neighbors, until fifty years ago. On a fateful day in the year A.K 968, swarms of Qatoran attack ships invaded the neutral zone separating the third and fourth sectors. The Chikyu-Saiyan fleet did all they could to defeat them, but soon they were overwhelmed. Qatorans made it past the first-line defenses and found their way to the planet Cephanos. It was there they slaughtered millions of innocent civilians in their search for destruction. They weren't looking for materials. They didn't even need to have that planet for strategic purposes. They merely wanted to satisfy their blood lust. So, they destroyed the planet mercilessly. 

That move was their downfall.

Six of the ten sectors who had chosen to remain neutral were polarized by such an outrageous act of genocide, so much so that they instantly formed an inter-sectoral militia, all focused on one thing; eradicating the Qatoran forces. Within three months of mobilization, the majority of the enemy fleet had been driven far back into the third sector. However, a contingent of elite Qatorans stationed on the now-barren planet of Cephanos held off the league of sectors while planning a massive final strike.

The league of sectors knew they had to act fast. Each sector sent as many men as they could send to form one giant land invasion force. After being transported down to Cephanos' surface, the troops surrounded the enemy and demanded immediate surrender. The Qatorans refused. What followed was the bloodiest, most terrifying, most sickening battles ever recorded in Chikyu-Saiyan history.

However, eventually, the league won hands down. The Qatorans were forced to sign a peace treaty which guaranteed that they would limit their military development in future generations and try to become a useful part of society. 

Of course, only the extreme idealists actually believed the Qatorans would follow such orders. And so, they completely disregarded them. Since then, they have built their army forces up to such a point that if they were given half a chance, they would be able to seriously threaten the safety of the entire quadrant. They were watched very carefully. 

But eventually, the people got so used to life as it used to be, they forgot about the Qatoran threat. Generations passed, and soon the great war was only a wisp of a memory.

But the Chikyu-Saiyans were not going to make the same mistake twice. They began to develop their defensive and offensive technology, preparing for that imminent day when the Qatorans would want their revenge. 

*So, this…* Trunks thought, eying the massive ship before him, *this is revenge…*

*****************

Pan merely sat there, mulling over what she should do to get this ship away from Trunks' planned pathway. Knowing the Qatorans had already noticed her, she decided to merely wait and let them make the first move. *And if their first move happens to be blowing you to smithereens??* a small voice in her head demanded. On second thought…

{{Pan!}} Another voice? Maybe she was going insane or something.

{{Pan, answer me, quick! Can you hear me?}} Pan realized that someone had hacked into her short-range comm-link. 

"Who's there? What do you want?" She whispered only because the man on the other side of the link was doing so. She realized her stupidity. As if anyone was eavesdropping in outer space!

{{Pan, it's me! Trunks!}}

"Trunks? Wait a minute, you're supposed to be off where the Argo is! What the heck are you doing here?"

{{Shh..not so loud. The Qatorans might be hacking into our link.}}

"And WHISPERING is supposed to HINDER HACKING???"

{{Well, um…never mind, at any rate, you and I seem to be in a bit of a bind - }

"Where are you, anyways? My sensors didn't pick up any other vessels anywhere near here!"

{{It doesn't matter! All you need know is that I'm stuck and I need to get past the Qatorans without their notice.}}

"You were supposed to have done that like ten minutes ago, wacko!"

{{I KNOW!}} He paused. {{Forget that. I just need a diversion…a big diversion. Any ideas?}}

"Well, I did have a perfect entrance before. Why didn't you just leave then?"

{{Will you drop that?}}

"No! You ruined the plan! Explain your actions!"

{{Sigh. I just couldn't go.}}

"Why not?"

{{Because I just…had to see if you were alright. I mean, if you died, then I'd…}}Another long pause. Pan held her breath. {{The plan would have failed.}} Anger rose in her chest. She had been so certain he had been about to confess he cared about her…at least about whether she lived or not. The coward! The cheeky, mission corrupting coward!

Still, argumentation would get them nowhere with the Qatorans on their doorstep. Pan decided to let his comment pass until after the mission was completed. Then she'd give him an earful!

"Whatever. Listen, just let me handle the whole diversion thing. I'll do whatever I'm gonna do, and then no matter what, you get out of here as fast as humanly possible, okay?"

{{Of course. And good luck, Pan.}} The link began to dissipate, but before it was completely gone, Pan thought she heard Trunks' voice again: {{Be careful.}} She sat back in the cockpit, finally realizing that a huge grin was plastered across her face. She shook her head. This was no time for…

####identify yourself. you are an unknown ship. you have no right to be in this air space.####

A monotone voice slipped through the overhead speakers. It was low, calm, and almost dignified. But it was cold. It was selfish. And it was soulless. A Qatoran.

Qatorans had long become popular subjects of scary stories that older siblings loved to scare their brothers or sisters with. In these, they were much like any other general boogie-monster; large teeth, multiple eyes, scary hair, wacko toenails, etc. But one distinct aspect was present in every Qatoran fable, and it was this aspect that true Qatorans intimidated all enemies with; their terrible, foul voices. It was said that just one word spoken by a Qatoran could drive six strong men to insanity.

Obviously, it was exaggerated. However, as Pan felt the icy fingers of that awful, quite menace slither into her ears, she almost could believe all of the myths. 

####identify yourself directly or you shall be destroyed. defiance is vain. surrender or die.####

Pan shivered involuntarily. She began doubting if she could successfully distract such a cunning people as these…was it possible? *Of course it is. They're nothing but a bunch of trigger-happy buffoons.* She came to herself. Yeah. Buffoons with rifles. All firepower and no tactics.

Pan sat up straight and jammed her helmet lower onto her head. She severed the comm link with the ship and brought every single weapon she had online…excepting her best, of course. If she was gonna do this, she was gonna do this with an insanely large amount of ammunition.

"Let's get ready to rumble!" (sorry, I had to) Pan put the bulky ship into full forward thrust and turned around, prepared to lead the enemy ship in a completely opposite direction from the Argo. She warmed up the brand spankin' new neo-speed thrusters. She got ready to go into full forward motion and…

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR

"Huh? What's happening here?" She searched the readouts. "The speed- system is damaged? Oh, that's just great. What exactly am I supposed to do now?" She stared into the view screen, looking over the huge ship. "I guess I'll hit 'em where it hurts most."

Pan aimed every single available weapon at where she knew the warp engine had to be located on the Qatoran ship. Hopefully she could limit them to impulse power so she could get away from them with at least a small glimmer of hope.

Ready. Aim. Fire.

*****************

Perfect. What a great idea! Hinder their main propulsion and make an escape!

Trunks watched in satisfaction as the barrage of torpedoes and lasers cut into the Qatoran engine room. They would be pretty busy from now on. Now was his chance.

He blasted the impulse burners to maximum and took the K-7 into warp as fast as he could. Soon he was well away from danger, heading towards where he hoped the Argo was now stationed. But getting there would take some time, and Pan was running out of it. Fast.

***********

Pan began working to speed her ship away from some very irate Qatorans. She knew her attack had bought her some time, but how much? Would she be able to bring the speed factor online before they got their act together? She worked harder, her fingers flying over keys that began heating up due to friction. Come on, the speed couldn't just not be there anymore. 

All the while, her measly janitorial engines were huffing and puffing away, carrying her along her escape route, meter by meter. Great. How helpful.

Pan knew her time was almost up. Somehow she had to escape the Qatorans. Somehow she had to get out of here!

####surrender your ship at once and face the consequences of your actions.####

Pan turned her ship around slowly, coming face-to-face with the barrel of a huge captor-pak20 buster rifle. Or not.

))))))))))))((((((((((()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()())))))))))((((((((((((

Uh oh. What in the world is poor Pan gonna do? Will she be abducted? Will she be destroyed right where she stands? Will the Qatorans (gasp) take her ship and hang it on their 'wall of gaudy space things?' Tune in next time for another exciting episode of…dumdum…PaN's CoNtInUiNg MiSiOn!!! AAAAAAAAAAUGH! 


	15. A Sickly Feeling

Oi, this one's a long chapter, to kinda sorta make up for the dry spell. Only it doesn't really. Oh, well. Enjoy. Lots of stuff happens in this one. And I actually changed what I was going to do with the end. I think I like it better now.

On with the show!

Chapter 15

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>>This is CB News, broadcasting over the planet Chikyu-Gamma, currently limited by blocked communications. Reports are in of an alien vessel orbiting the planet Chikyu-Gamma and threatening a CSSF ship. The designation of this CSSF vessel is as yet unknown, but this reporter has heard some hearsay about a 'multihued monster,' a 'clownish cargo carrier,' if you will, a 'fluorescent freighter,' a- 

>>Yes, James, why don't you go eat your animal crackers? 

>>But- 

>>That's correct, James, there is indeed an enemy ship floating just beyond the atmospheric veil of the planet Chikyu-Gamma. However, officials have refused to tell the media why exactly this ship has appeared. One official, who seems to have been involved in the Academy tournament proceedings which were recently interrupted by this enemy ship, has leaked to us something about a decoy plan- 

>>Isn't it also true, Barbara, that this 'enemy ship,' as it were, is the reason for our restricted transmission? 

>>Animal crackers. Go to it. 

>>Barbara, I work here too, you know- 

>>GO EAT THOSE CRACKERS OR I WILL GET THEM FOR YOU AND SHOVE THEM UP- 

Bra turned the screen off and threw her pillow onto the floor. Her head fell back to rest on the couch's arm and she groaned inwardly. "Why is it that whenever we have a crisis they send the actual reporters on vacation and let these bozos get their hands on expensive equipment? Tell me what the heck is going on!"

She slid of the cushion and rose to her feet, padding to the kitchen. Her phone, communicator, comp-linker, and ten of her fifteen free-talk tags lay in a jumble on the counter. She swiped them into the sink and almost considered hosing them in her anger. What good had all the technology of the Briefs family done when it had been trumped? She held her fire, though, remembering something her mother had told her long ago. Or maybe it was last week.

"Bra, don't you see? Technology is, yes, a wonderful thing. We do use it quite a lot, and it does reduce much of our daily workload, freeing us to do other things with our time. However, that doesn't mean that technology rules us. Correction: it doesn't _have _to. For the laymen out there who can't survive without their stupid GRAVITY ROOMS, slavery may be the only option. You and I, being intelligent and insightful people, have the means to manipulate technology to serve _us_."

Bra took in the sink with all its singly useless contact devices and thought for a moment. If none of these alone could patch through to any device outside the atmosphere of the planet, then the Qatorans must have installed some sort of code blocker. A universal code-blocker was impossible, even for the Qatorans - because the length of each code can vary, the possible code combinations are limitless - infinite. This meant that the Qatorans must have had to tailor their own blocker to the specific range of codes utilized by the various communication devices on Chikyu-Gamma.

She pulled out her computer and started a query.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks' K-7 veered around asteroid belts, through emission nebulae, and past stellar nurseries, its scanning processes continuing their scrutiny of contiguous space. This was strange. The on-site commander had said the Argo was only 50 parsecs away, Trunks knew it. Why wasn't he picking it up anywhere?

He continued his foray into the surrounding territory, contemplating alternative possibilities. Maybe the Argo was using some sort of stealth device? But no – the league of sectors had outlawed that after failed experiments with the technology had resulted in the deaths of thousands of crewmembers. Or at least their disappearance…

Perhaps the Argo had received some sort of mission that pulled them away from the area. In that case, Trunks didn't know what he could do. The entire plan hinged on him being able to contact the Argo. He had to find this stupid ship!

Trunks switched down from his main propulsion to secondary impulse thrusters, freeing up energy resources for a deeper scan. A slow hum along with a steady-paced beep accompanied the process. Maybe he could find some other ship to help him out. But was there any other ship out there capable of matching the Qatorans weapon for weapon? Trunks pondered a moment. He did know that his dad wasn't an idiot when it came to tactics; maybe Vegeta had something up his sleeve? Trunks shook his head to clear it. He was getting annoyed with all the beeping and almost stopped the scan altogether when the viewscreen output changed slightly.

"There," Trunks said aloud. A small dot on the screen indicated some sort of object floating about 25 parsecs away from him. Maybe, just maybe, this was the Argo. He entered the coordinates the screen gave him and sped off.

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That was quite a gun. It was a big, heavy, destructive-looking thing, lined up and down with little green lights and rippled vents steaming with the sweat of its intentions. Pan stared down into its limitless maw, trying to use its disproportionate size to work up a bit of a laugh and failing miserably. It may have been ridiculous, but it was trained directly on her ship, and she doubted if mocking it would cause it to run off into a corner and cry mercy.

Her mind, which she wished were running along at a mile a minute, was actually otherwise engaged at the moment, and not with something so useful as weapon systems. She was thinking about her mother. The last time she spoke to Videl had been on her communicator back at the Academy. They had been talking about a great recipe for chocolate-chip cookies that Videl had made when Pan was little. For years Pan had been asking her for the recipe, and only this time had Videl deemed Pan 'old enough' to handle the baking.

A soft smile lit Pan's eyes and turned up the corners of her mouth. Her mother was always making the most mundane things out to be significant. But she had said once that the everyday occurrences, including cookie recipes, were the stuff of life – the substance of it. And then Pan thought back even further, over all the hugs her dad had given her. She remembered his grin over every present she opened Christmas morning. She remembered the feeling of her mom stroking her back as she lay in bed, sick with a cold. She remembered her friends – Bra, the insufferably long-winded, kind and loyal; Brikul, the ugly giant with the friendly eyes; Trunks –

>>you will comply. prepare yourself 

The silky voice curled inside her ears and forced a shiver. When her eyes again focused, the gun barrel that was once pitch black was now lit with the resentful fury of a dying star.

Pan's stomach sank. She had to go to the bathroom.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Trunks was coming up on the object his scanners had picked up about ten minutes ago. He had to lower his speed and drop from the main thrusters in order to start up the viewing system. He wanted to see this with his own eyes; he had heard the Argo was a magnificent structure.

As the K-7 continued to glide forward, the screen over Trunks' head flickered into life. Empty space greeted him.

"Strange. I must be a little off with the camera." He started manually swiveling the hull camera back and forth, using the controls on the wall beside his right shoulder. After about thirty seconds of this, something caught his eye. He had passed it; he slowly moved back to the area.

The lower right corner of the screen was covered with a scattering of small grey articles of varying size and contour. Trunks boxed the grouping and zoomed in. They now filled the screen entirely, but Trunks was still ignorant as to what exactly they were. He tried deep-scanning one of the bigger objects to see what it was made of. The readout came up instantly. Aluminum, Byterium, Rhondorium, Silicon – the same materials used in the hull of a ship. These must be debris. But how old were they? And how had a ship been destroyed without anyone finding out about it?

Maybe it was a supply vessel. He had heard reports before of these ubiquitous crafts getting lost for weeks before the transport commission figured it out. Or maybe – but something again caught Trunks' eye. Something blue on one of the medium-sized pieces of metal. It was writing of some sort; he squinted and tried to make it out.

"In the service of…of something or other, one two…five? Or maybe three. Seven one point two. CSSF…oh, I can't…" he trailed off, because the rest of the words were obscured by another floating chunk of metal. He waited as it moved lazily by. The final word was revealed, which he knew instantly was the name of the ill-fated vessel before him. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth so hard his temples started aching.

It was the Argo.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Pan groaned and pushed her palms against the slimy floor beneath her cheek, rising shakily until she was seated on her haunches. The watery chalk-smelling goo that her cheek had so recently called its pillow was now oozing along her jaw and dripping with an intermittent 'plop' onto her forearms and thighs. She blinked and yawned, gazing around at the walls that were mere feet from her absently twisting fingers, the low bench that was turned on its side on her right, the low ceiling which she was sure she would strike if she tried to stand, and the grey door which stood out because it was the only clean thing she could see.

Crawling to the overturned bench, she righted it and sat with her back to the wall, not caring that it was covered with the same substance that now caused her boots to squelch as she tapped her feet impatiently. She rubbed her hands together and leaned forward, trying to think.

The last thing she remembered was that huge gun rammed up against the chuckles-mobile's forward side. The light from within it had been blinding, and she had tried to switch off the screen to no effect. Soon the entire bridge section had been flooded with an intense, searing heat, and all the eyelids in the world couldn't shut out that awful light! The noise had been – but there had been no noise. That was what she now recalled. The deathlike silence of outer space had filled her ears, and she had been sure that the ship must have been ripped open.

But she was here, wherever 'here' was, and she was alive. Whatever had happened, it was in another time, another dimension. Now there was only herself, the smell of chalk, and the plip plip plip of fifty leaky faucets.

She didn't know how long she sat there writing a tune to the sewer-like beat, but she was eventually interrupted by a low whisper.

"Oi. Oi, you." She glanced around, but could see no point of origin for the whisper. She said nothing. "Oi. Ah, fine. I'm coming in." She heard other voices, one of which seemed to be complaining, and the other of which was consoling the complainer. A fast sort of 'shick' sound followed, and a hole appeared in the wall at her left. She raised an eyebrow, but did not jump.

"Welcome to the Lucinda Maze, friend." A shaggy brown head of hair poked through the hole. Pan observed that the hole was flush with the floor and so low as to force any entering person to crawl through. After the shaggy hair-guy had escaped, there followed a blonde boy with a raggedy leather suitcase and a dark man with a bandana pressing his dirty hair to his forehead. He glowered at her as she sat examining him nonchalantly. This was obviously the complainer. She look again at the boy, noting his sympathetic smile. Ah, the consoler. And the whisperer –

"I bet you're wondering who we are, eh?" The whisperer grinned widely and sat down unceremoniously against the grey door, within reach of her boots should she want to injure him. His pale blue eyes took in her sliminess and her disheveled appearance, but his grin widened and his irises took on an almost teasing glint. The complainer did not sit, but moved to stand at the whisperer's left, his arms crossed and his dark gaze still trained on Pan. The boy tripped over to the bench and sat right next to her. He began opening the suitcase.

This all seemed kind of rehearsed, and as Pan was pondering this possibility, the whisperer began introductions. "Well, my name is Brand, this here is Forsythe, and the kid there is called Benin. Ben for short, I think." He glanced humorously at Ben, who was now absorbed in what Pan realized was a computer inside the suitcase. Brand continued. "The computer there is Lucinda, hence the Lucinda Maze. 'Snamed for Ben's mom." Brand didn't say anything then, but crossed his throat with his finger while looking at Pan significantly. She glanced sideways at Ben, who seemed oblivious. Dead mother. Pan felt a twinge of regret at such a young boy losing someone so important. "The Qat boys don't call it that, 'course, but we think it gives the place a more community-type feel, dontcha think?"

She said nothing, because she was now involved in a staring contest with Forsythe. His glare was getting on her nerves. She steadily maintained a similar glare but kept her pose as detached as possible, trying to make him mad while still keeping the upper hand. After a short while, he looked away sulkily. She grinned evilly, triumph swelling her chest.

"Yeah, so there's us, now would you be so kind as to give us your name, pretty lady?"

Gazing at Brand, she realized he had been observing her little competition. His eyes were lit with humor, though, and Pan dropped her guard a bit. She opened her mouth to speak for the first time in what seemed like ages. There was a frog in her throat. She coughed and started again. "Pan." She held off on her last name only because they had. Then she asked the question that had been pounding against her forehead like an annoying sixth-grade boy since she woke up. "Where the heck are we?"

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Bulma Briefs was mad. It wasn't anything she could logically support, really; her staff were working rather efficiently today, her father had made great gains in his fight against whatever sickness was plaguing him at the moment, and Vegeta hadn't even been in the building. The halls of Capsule Corp Industrial Center were busy with commerce, and Bulma's already large fortune was becoming more and more secure with every new invention, every decision, every transaction completed within these hallowed walls.

And yet she was angry. There was something wrong. Something she couldn't quite put a finger on. Something that was emphasized by various little blips in the smoothness of her day.

For one thing, the 30 or so employees that commuted from Kandar 4 had called in absent, citing difficulty with the orientation systems on their transport vehicles. It wasn't a big deal; she usually planned for about 80 per cent of her employees showing up on any given day. It still made her uneasy. For another thing, she had twice tried to call her daughter, Bra, only to come up against an annoying 'technical problems, please stand by' message from the Communication Division. This was doubly annoying because her neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, had absolutely no difficulty getting through to _her_ to complain about her hedges.

In all probability, nothing was wrong, but Bulma was a cynical person, and she assumed that things were chaos until proven orderly. Maybe Vegeta had influenced her a little bit…

She was about to get back to work when her link-phone blinked. Great, now she'd have to fix the ringer on the thing. She picked it up and punched in the query for the origin of the message. Strangely, it was from the Bonhardt system. She didn't know anyone from the Bonhardt system. She granted access out of curiosity.

"Mom? Mom! Are you there? Oh please tell me you can hear me!" Bra's exhausted and frustrated tones blared from the receiver.

"Honey! Calm down. Why in the world are you in the Bonhardt system?" She leaned back, prepared to console Bra over a boyfriend issue or something of the like.

"I'm not, mom. I..I had to patch through it in a different code in order to find you, only I had to switch codes while I was patching, and I almost messed it up, I mean I _did _mess it up about three times before now, only finally it worked and I'm so glad you're there -"

"Bra. Something happened." She knew it! "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, mom, I'm fine for now, only there are Qatorans and they're orbiting and apparently Pan and Trunks are trying to lure them away, but I'm not sure how that's going, and they're jamming communications and I can't do anything to help them! Oh, mom! This is terrible!"

Qatorans? Vegeta had said many times that they would eventually come for revenge. She had hoped she would be able to finish her new prototype before then – no matter. They were prepared. She was the smartest woman in CSSF; she could beat any technology she saw. She had to tell Vegeta. He may have been a baka, but he was unbeatable for tactics.

"Don't worry, Bra. Mom and dad are coming to help."

"Oh, mom! You're awesome!"

"I know, dear. Uh, where are you, by the way?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

8000 people, most of them civilians, gone just like that. Some of the greatest engineers, enforcers, and commanders in the CSSF. Jason Greco. Tomaris Levatharin.

"Pan's parents," Trunks spoke aloud, trying to pierce the emotional void that now held him captive. The Argo's nameplate was still centered on the viewscreen, mocking him as it floated serenely in a peace that belied the destruction that must have occurred only hours previously. He lowered his head to avoid the scene, but could not prevent its imprint in his memory. He tried thinking of something else- anything else. Pan's face came into his mind.

He saw her look at him coolly as she shoved a piece of cake in his face. He saw her burning with anger as he attacked her and stopped her from entering the tournament. He saw her smile at him from behind a cup of hot chocolate, her grin as she refused to be fooled by his Keebler-induced lies. She was so – wonderful. She didn't deserve this. Not this.

With the Argo gone, the plan was basically shot. But Trunks still had a K-7, and enough firepower to maybe focus the Qatorans on him while he made Pan escape. But since when had he been able to make Pan do anything? He sighed. He still had to try.

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Brand leaned over Pan's head to see what Benin was typing on the suitcase computer. This seemed somewhat strange because he would have had a better view on Benin's right, but Pan decided not to notice. Forsythe sat in the corner with his knees under his chin and glowered at her. She ignored him. Her head was spinning with what little she knew and the bulk she didn't.

They were inside the very Qatoran vessel that had so recently destroyed the chuckles-mobile (yes, it is gone. Let us have a moment of silence. No speeches? Ah, such is life) that was apparently still orbiting Chikyu-Gamma. The slimy, chalk-smelling cell in which she was now contained was part of an elaborate storage room-turned-brig the Qats (as Brand liked to call them) had created out of necessity. What necessity, Pan had yet to figure out.

Benin shook with excitement. He smiled giddily as he tapped furiously on the ancient-looking keypad on his lap. Images and designs flashed rapidly on the screen and stopped on what looked like a map. "Ah," he said, and shifted the screen so Pan could see better. It was a map of the cells, a fact Pan knew because Benin was typing 'Lucinda Maze' across the top.

"Did you create this?" Pan asked, amazed. It was intricately detailed, showing about 250 or so cells of similar size, all filling up a rectangular area with 6 large corridors separating it into 10 square sections. Each cell had a set of names written in it, which Pan supposed were the people currently residing there. Pan glanced through them, not really expecting to recognize any. She thought she saw a last name starting with 'Gr,' but she was cut off from her examination as Benin pulled the screen back around and zoomed in on a small portion. He swiveled it back and let her watch as he typed in her name inside one of the few remaining empty cells.

"Nah, I hacked it from the ship's database. The names I did do, though – we did, I mean. A sort of research compilation. Lots of fun, met lots of people. Some of 'em quirky, but most nice. A bunch of 'em were just-"

"Don't give the lady more than she can absorb, Ben. Lets just go through the basics. Any pressing questions?" He looked at her, still hovering over her head slightly. She shifted away under the pretense of taking a closer look at the computer screen.

"Can you let me see the other names again?" Benin grinned, ready to comply, but Brand held him back with a look.

"Not quite yet, fair inquisitor. That's for after you learn the situation." He motioned for her to move over and sat down on her left. Benin chuckled. Forsythe glowered even more. "Truth be told, all of us here in these cells have been captured from ships that have since been destroyed. Most of us haven't been missed."

"Why not? Don't you have friends? Family?" Pan looked at him closely as he talked. She didn't trust him.

"Well, in a sense, not really. We're, ah, well I might as well be out with it, eh, Forsythe?" Forsythe continued staring at Pan, but nodded grudgingly.

"We're mercenaries," Benin supplied eagerly. Now this was something new. Pan thought that the mercenary trade had been pretty much wiped out by higher economics and peace treaties. Who would want to hire brute force?

"Well, not Benin, really, he's just a kid with major hacking skills we picked up along the way." Benin sulked. "But 'Sythe and me, we're the real thing. Or at least we were, until the Qats cut in on our trade lines."

"Who in the galaxy would employ mercenaries? I thought you guys went out of business long ago."

"Ah, so she does have an intellect. I like that. Ah, Pan, that's what various governments would like their citizenry to believe, but the fact is mercing is a very lucrative business in the outer developments. Like ah, the Ghratin system, for instance."

"The Ghratin system? But that's right next to-"

"The Qatoran sector? Oh, yes. Indeed it is. But they haven't bothered us for fifty years, and as long as the two major planets in the Ghratin system want to get revenge on each other, Sythe and me are in business."

"Only you're not in business anymore." Pan turned to him, interested. Her knee brushed his, but she decided not to mind.

"No."

"And the Qatorans decided to bother you."

"Well, basically. They actually decided to try their new weapons out on our two planets of operation. After they were gone, we really had nothing left to lose, so we decided to take on the Qats as employers."

"If you're serious I'll remove your ability to propagate right now." By now she was standing, and heat had risen to her cheeks.

"Hey, hey! I'm in the same cell as you, nene? Ah, come on, Pan! I wouldn't seriously cut a deal with Qats. They're murderers!"

"And you're not? How many people have you killed for the sake of a profit?" She backed to the wall, keeping all three invaders in her line of sight. Benin was looking at her solemnly, but not meanly. Forsythe had switched from an outright glare to a considering stare, and Brand was now standing and walking toward her, his arms raised.

"Hey, Panny, just let me explain things to you-" She broke.

"Don't call me 'Panny', you grisly jerk!" taking his left wrist in a firm grip, she swiftly lifted his arm over her shoulder and in one motion bent over, tossing him on the floor. Her face hovered over his, and her forearm was now pressed into his neck. Forsythe barked a laugh.

"Yeah, Brand, I think we can trust her. And anyone who can drop you like a sack of bricks is worth keeping around just to shut you up." Forsythe stood, and held out a hand to Pan, a look of gregariousness now plastered on the face that had once worn only animosity. She leaned back, uncertain. "Aw, take it. It's not like you wouldn't be dead anyway, if we wanted to kill you, and none of us has shown any inclination to do so." She saw his point, aside from the 'not being able to avoid death' bit. She took his hand and rose to her feet.

Brand started to struggle up, but Forsythe stepped on his chest to keep him down, roaring with laughter as he did so. Brand grabbed the offending ankle and shoved it to the side, putting Forsythe off-balance and allowing him time to swivel to his knees. This was achieved in such a fluid, practiced motion that Pan knew instantly he was a well-trained fighter. He grinned at her and stood.

"Okay, so you got us. We're not actually mercenaries. 'Sythe here is my older brother and the kid there is our sponsor."

Benin caught her incredulous look. "I'm rich," the kid said matter-of-factly, as if that explained everything. He went back to typing.

"He is a great hacker, we didn't lie about that. His parents own the second largest Benetene refinery in the system. He has a lot of free time, so he uses his substantial allowance to help programmers in need of support." He tried to sit next to her again. She didn't move. He stood up again as if he hadn't ever tried.

"Programmers. As in computer programmers? Then why are you so skilled at fighting?" His eyes looked appreciative at her notice.

"Well, our research takes us into all kinds of situations. I decided that instead of waste money on some brawn, I might try my hand at some combat training." He grinned again. "We're uh, actually working on a beta version of the new planet defense system CSSF commissioned. We were, that is, until we were so rudely interrupted." Brand was now leaning against the wall next to her, his arms crossed, his brown hair falling over his amused eyes. He certainly didn't look like a computer programmer…

"The Qatorans decided to test their F-20 strafe cannons on our poor shuttle hull as we were heading home for research. We ended up here just like you, oh, say, about a month ago."

Pan rested her chin in her hand. "But why did they bother beaming us aboard? I mean, last time they attacked, they just wiped everyone out, right?"

"It seems like the Qatorans have learned the value of hostages. Have you seen who's in these cells?" Benin piped up and looked at her inquisitively. She slid over to look at the computer screen. Where was that Gr name? She scanned the cells with her eyes. There.

"Jason Greco! The Argo? They attacked the ARGO?"

"Hold on! Who do you know there?" Brand finally had wiped the grin off his face. "They may not have died." Forsythe shot him a warning look, but it was too late.

"Died? What? I thought they took hostages – "

"Only significant hostages." He knelt in front of her. "Who did you know?" He said it earnestly, and his hands were clamped to her shoulders. All the heat had gone out of her body. Oh, no. Oh, no.

"My parents." She said it so softly she wasn't sure he had heard her.

"Last name?" Benin piped softly. She looked at him, tears burning in her eyes. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. He was a good kid.

"Um, Son." She got out before her throat closed. Mom! Dad!

"Oh." The quietness of the voice forced her to acknowledge it. It was Forsythe. "Him." His face was unreadable. She looked at Brand. He avoided her gaze.

"Will someone tell me what the heck is going on? What do you mean, 'him?' My father? What about my mom?"

"No, Pan. Not your mom. Not your dad. Goku." Brand was trying to sooth her. She wanted to punch him.

"Wha? But-" Forsythe jumped in.

"We talked to him today. Nice guy. Told us a story. Said he'd had a son." Had? "Also a daughter-in-law. Said he'd been visiting them on the Argo, said it was the first time in a while 'cause he'd been gone for a good fifteen years. Mostly he just sits there, though. Says the same thing whenever you try to talk to him – 'I tried.'"

"Now, Pan. Don't get upset. We don't have much time and the Qats – " she just looked at him. She didn't have the energy to explode, even though her insides were as tumultuous as a tornado. He squeezed the shoulders he'd been holding all this time. She didn't want to punch him as much. "The Qats are only going to continue killing. Your parents aren't the only ones." She cringed. He squeezed tighter. His voice softened. "Pan, do you remember the Argo's complement?"

"7,883," Benin supplied softly.

"The Qats only took 50 of 'em. 50. Out of 7884."

"-83."

"Ben," Brand warned. Benin quieted. Something of the hollow pain Pan was feeling had entered Brand's voice. Maybe he had lost people close to him.

The face Pan had been fighting to keep neutral crumpled, but she refused to let her body collapse. Brand took the initiative and folded her rigid form in his arms. She hadn't been expecting it. She let her head rest beneath his chin. But for some reason, she didn't cry. In the face of such a horrible truth, her tears would not come out to comfort her. She just stared at a bug climbing the wall next to Brand's elbow and listened to him breathe.

"Pan, Goku was there when it happened. He's even been burned because the Qatorans cut it close beaming him out. Saw the ship explode around him, the people…" Forsythe trailed off. "He could really use a friendly face." Pan sighed and closed her eyes tight.

"Take me to him."

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And there we are. Like? Dislike? How will an author like me know unless you…wait for it…review! Please? Pretty please?

sobs in another corner

Oh btw I have the next chappie about half-written. So it may be up in the near future, emphasis on 'may.' Prob is, classes start soon, and that eats up a lot o' ma time. Sigh.


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